#reluctant catherine tag

[bornetoblood]

All The Men I Know Are Just As Miserable As Me

[gravehags]

meet me in the woods

Pairing: Cirrus x f!Reader (Regency AU)

Rating: Explicit, 18+ ONLY MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Tags: plus size reader, regency au, ghouls as highwaymen, stripping, oral sex, fingering

Words: 3,445

Summary: You are a well-bred, polite society girl. Until you're not.

a/n: this whole thing is @terzosbignaturals fault tbh (enjoy)

divider by @ghuleh-recs

“Do try to sit up straight, dear, you look so…so portly when you slouch.”

Obediently you straighten your shoulders as the carriage jostles the three of you around. 

“Perhaps I look portly because I am portly, my lady,” you say quietly, not without a bit of venom. You would never dare speak back to your guardian directly, so subtle comments must make do. Lady Catherine’s face sours and her thin lips purse as she regards you with a withering glance but does not respond. Lord Richard sits next to you, snoring and completely oblivious to the conversation as well as your presence on the whole. That was nothing new, the man practically lived in his smoking room, never once sparing you a thought. You were perfectly content with that, enjoying being ignored far more than being under the constant scrutiny and cruel words of the woman sitting across from you.

Ever since your parents died many years ago, you have been raised (perhaps a generous term) by these two members of the social elite who are allegedly distant cousins. You spend most of your time alone, wandering the estate gardens and reading your novels, ever dreaming of adventure and romance. Your guardians have, of course, brought reluctant suitors around to woo you, but you have been unmoved by any of their paltry ideas of romance. No, you much preferred bundling up in your bed at night with only a candle for company, clinging to the pages of a gothic horror novel borrowed from one of your friends - a scandalous thing that involves a sinister countess seducing her chambermaid. So desperately you wish to be desired darkly, deeply and you find immense comfort and pleasure in every dramatic, lust-filled word.

Your eyes have become unfocused as you gaze out the window and you barely notice the cavalcade of dark horses that stampede past you, causing the carriage to come to a halt. You look to Lady Catherine, who looks more annoyed than anything, as she pounds on the ceiling to alert the driver of her irritation. There is a prolonged silence and you feel anxiety twist in your gut when suddenly the door of the carriage is wrenched open.

“Well, well, well, and what kind of treasure do we have here?”

The figure looks…well…dashing is the only way you can put it. Tall, swathed in a long black coat and breeches tucked into black leather riding boots. Their face is obscured from the nose down by a black kerchief and on their head sits a dramatic feathered black hat. Lady Catherine opens her mouth to squawk indignantly at the intruder but they simply roll their eyes and motion to someone behind them. In the meantime the figure offers you a gloved hand and, with no better ideas at hand, you take it. When you step out of the carriage you see a group of more than half a dozen figures, also masked and in black, standing at attention either on horses or on foot. One of them comes forward with a length of cloth and the mysterious figure climbs back into the carriage to gag Lady Catherine with it. Lord Richard barely stirs with an inelegant snort and immediately falls back asleep, deaf to the muffled cries of his wife.

The group of what you can only assume are bandits continue to stare as the leader re-emerges from the carriage and slams the door shut behind them. They’re taller than you, and have you pushed up slightly against the side of the buggy with their arm resting above your head. They’re close enough you can smell them - something sweet akin to violets but also plum and leather - and the scent makes you dizzy. They bring a gloved hand up and run a finger along your jawline, giving you a lascivious once over that makes you flush from head to toe.

“Treasure, indeed,” they say, fingering the green velvet of your spencer jacket. The others around them chuckle and nudge one another as your eyes dart around, unsure of where to look or what to do.

“W-who are you?” you ask quietly, and the leader makes a dramatic gasp with a slight fainting motion.

“She speaks! And even her voice is just as lovely,” a few of the bandits chuckle and they give you a wink.

“We are highwaymen, my treasure,” there is something about this voice, while not familiar to your ears it sounds unusual.

“We don’t have anything of value,” you say in a rush, fidgeting with the muslin of your gown. “I mean…Lady Catherine might,” you admit softly. The leader’s eyes crinkle - they clearly must be grinning underneath the mask - as they regard you. “Please let us go.”

“‘Please,’” the leader murmurs. “So polite. Such a well-bred young woman. Allow me to ask you a question - do you want to be let go?”

You think back to your gothic novels and the thrill they give you, as well as the feeling you are experiencing at the apex of your thighs. If they let you and the others go…then what? A lifetime listening to catty comments from one of your guardians and absolute ignorance from the other? A lifetime of finding some horrible little man Lady Catherine has chosen for you to marry and being stuck bearing his many children? The thought makes you feel nauseous and it must show on your face because the highwayman slides a finger under your chin and lifts it so you are looking at them.

“No,” you whisper, after a beat. “No, I do not want to be let go.”

The figure leans in close to you and runs a hand over your waist, inhaling deep.

“You’re mine now,” they breathe before gripping you by the arm and pulling you over to the largest black steed of the pack. Elegantly, they mount the horse and gesture for one of the other bandits to assist you in climbing up and situating yourself in front of them on the saddle. The way their warm thighs frame yours and their eyes trace along your exposed stocking-clad calves makes you shiver in anticipation. All at once they let out a piercing whistle and everyone mounts their horses and leaves the forested area. As the stallion begins to gallop, you briefly look backwards at where your guardians have been left behind. You want to feel guilty, to feel disgraced at what you’ve done. But quite frankly, you can’t bring yourself to care.

Good riddance.

You ride for a great long while, your somewhat-captor’s arms woven around your waist and gripping you tight to them. Their chin rests on your shoulder and you can hear them breathing in your ear, even over the thundering of hooves. What a sight all of you must make, you think, as you traverse the countryside like a pack of devils. The exhilaration of the situation, the wind in your hair, thrills you and your face splits open in a smile. For the first time in your whole life you feel free.

Your companion must see your wild grin because their grip tightens around your waist and they bring their hips flush against your behind.

“Enjoying yourself, my sweet?” they call into your ear, only just loud enough for you to hear over the pounding gallops of the horse.

Briefly looking over your shoulder you nod, face flushed from both the wind and emotion. When you turn your head back around, you feel droplets begin to fall onto your cheeks and you hear the figure behind you let out a curse.

“We still have a few miles to ride,” they say, spurring the steed on with their heels, “Hope you don’t mind getting wet.” There’s a vaguely lascivious note to their voice and once again you feel a twinge between your thighs.

It takes about five minutes but suddenly the dark sky opens up and begins pouring down upon your group. You’re all riding as fast as you can through the forest when in the distance you see a large rock formation. As you get closer you notice there is a massive opening in the rock that leads into a dark, dark cave. You’re shivering by the time the riders stop at the entrance and dismount, soaked to the bone and barely able to move. Your companion dismounts swiftly and reaches up to remove you from the saddle. The other masked bandits stand around and watch as they carry you, as a groom carries a bride on their wedding night, into the mouth of the cave.

It’s not quite as dark in here as you originally thought - the walls lined with many torches and fires providing warmth to the dank space. The highwayman continues to carry you through the wide, weaving tunnel as if you weigh nothing. You feel so…so delicate in their arms, a sensation that you were entirely unfamiliar with. When the two of you turn a corner, you’re brought into a secluded area. The ground is covered in luxurious cushions and rugs, a large, thick fur tucked underneath. They set you down on the surprisingly comfortable surface and with a flick of their hand, remove both the kerchief covering their face and their hat.

Your jaw drops open.

Her hat.

The woman that stands before you is breathtaking as she loosens her silver streaked dark hair from the queue at the back of her neck. The coat comes off next and reveals a white blouse and, you note with your cheeks flushing deep, she wears no stays. Black fabric strains tight around rounded hips and long legs. 

You’re staring. And she notices.

“You’re not bad to look at yourself, my dove,” she coos. “Let’s get you out of those damp clothes, hmm?”

When she kneels down at your feet, staring deep into your eyes, you feel lightheaded. Carefully she unlaces your boots and removes them one by one. Fingers slipping on the buttons, you shed your drenched jacket, leaving yourself in equally wet white muslin. The rain has soaked through to your dress and now the material clings to your skin and stays. Her eyes travel across the swell of your breasts and her lips curl into a sinister toothy grin that makes you burn inside. You don’t know what to do now as you cannot reach the buttons on the back of your dress, but she seems to anticipate this and gestures for you to flip over onto your stomach. Slowly, she runs a hand over the curve of your backside and along your spine until she reaches the buttons and deftly undoes them, shedding you of one more layer. Shivering you turn back over, now only your stays and chemise separating your body from her intense gaze. Your fingers start to move towards the laces at the front of your chest but you hesitate.

“What’s your name?” you ask quietly as she scoots towards you more.

“Cirrus,” she answers simply. It’s unusual but it suits her and you quite like it. You tell her your name in return and you enjoy the way her lips and tongue wrap around it.

“May I?” she asks with a little half smile, hand gesturing towards the front of your stays. “You’ll catch a dreadful cold if we don’t get all this off you.”

Blush returning, you nod and her fingers begin tugging at the knot and laces until the garment falls open. Your thin, damp chemise fights for its life as it clings to your breasts and Cirrus licks her lips.

“Beautiful,” she breathes, eyes roaming over your form. “One last thing.”

Her hands reach down to the hem of your chemise, inching it up your body until it comes off over your head and is discarded behind her. When you’re fully exposed to her, wearing nothing but your white stockings, she lets out a ragged breath.

“Treasure the likes of which I have never seen before,” she murmurs, fingers running down your belly. Your mind harkens back to that salacious little novel you loved to read under the cover of night and the way the countess would touch her chambermaid. You feel a rush from between your legs and you bite your lip as your eyes dance upon Cirrus’ features. 

“W-what are you going to do to me?” you ask, cheeks heated and thighs clenching.

She lets out a dark little chuckle as her hand hovers over your body, twitching in their obvious desire to touch you.

“I told you,” she starts, leaning back, “that you’re mine now. And I am so very good to my treasures.”

“Oh?” your voice comes out higher than you would like.

“Mmm,” she hums as she throws a leg over your body the same way she mounted her steed. As she straddles your waist, her hands come up to tangle in your damp hair and brush her thumbs against your parted lips.

“Would you like me to be good to you, my sweet?”

She continues to thumb at your cheekbones while looking deep into your eyes, her gaze illuminated by the many torches that surround the two of you.

“No one has ever been…good to me,” you confess, understanding her double entendre. You are, after all, a good society girl. The only touch of a lover you have known is your own, late in the night when all were asleep.

“A damn shame,” she says, leaning her face down to yours, “And yet, I am so very glad that I have you all to myself now.” In an instant she slots her lips against yours and you jump from the contact. Her kiss is slow and languid, clearly delighting in the lack of urgency presented to the both of you. When she teases her tongue along your lower lip you let out a little whimper and she takes the opportunity to plunder your mouth. As she continues to hotly kiss you, you wind your arms around her neck to bring her in close. Her hand slides up the side of your body to cup at your breast, thumb flicking your pebbled nipple. When she breaks the kiss you let out a pathetic little whine that makes her grin as she slides further down your body.

“Such a needy thing, hmm?” she says before wrapping her lips around your nipple, causing your back to arch sharply. Your hand slides into her loose hair to push her against you and she lets out a rough chuckle around the bud before lightly nipping it with her teeth, causing your hips to buck upwards. When she pulls off of you and leans back, the pout on your face makes her throw her head back in a laugh.

“Wanton little creature!” she crows, as you continue to glare up at her, “they had no idea what lay beneath your surface, eh? All those simpering idiot suitors you undoubtedly had - they could never pull these sweet sounds from you.”

You shake your head as she idly palms your breasts in her beautiful hands. 

“Darling girl, I’m going to make you scream,” she promises, once again lowering her mouth to you. The pleasure that seeps out of you as she laves at your other breast makes your back arch once more. Slowly, her body continues to slide down and she places tender kisses over the curves of your belly. When she settles between your legs, she grins with all her teeth. Hands grip at the fullness of your thighs, fingers slipping underneath your stockings to feel the soft flesh there. Her breath dances across your mound, stirring the hairs and she nuzzles into your leg.

“Tell me what you want,” Cirrus asks, fingers tracing the veins in your leg.

“I…I don’t know,” you say honestly, blushing furiously.

She chuckles against you, placing a kiss to your inner thigh that makes you twitch.

“Do you want me to devour you?” she says, licking a stripe along the slit of you that wrenches a sharp gasp from your throat. “Do you want me to fill you up like no man ever could?”

“I–I…yes. Yes, please.” The confession leaves your lips in a rush, desperate to feel her mouth on you once more.

Gently, Cirrus uses two fingers to spread you open and what she sees clearly delights her.

“Mmm sweet girl, so fucking wet for me and me alone, aren’t you?”

Her fingers trace along your clitorial hood, forcing a whine from your throat.

“Yes,” you breathe, your hips unconsciously making little circles. “I need you, Cirrus. Only you.”

The words cause Cirrus to let out a feral growl before she slides the flat of her tongue along your bud. She hungrily laps at your slick, circling your clit before dipping down into your entrance for more. You’ve never felt anything like this before - none of your meager attempts at self-pleasure could compare - and you tell her so. Your confession spurs her on as she continues to assault your cunt with her tongue, sliding in and out of your entrance. It’s divine, and if she continued like this you could die happy but you need more.

“Cirrus,” you whine as she wraps her lip around your clit and sucks, “fill me up. Please, I need more.”

Cirrus smiles against your mound and places a chaste kiss to it as she pulls back to rearrange herself. When she brings a single, long finger to tease at your entrance your hips thrust forward.

“Next time I’ll use my cock,” she promises as she slowly slides the finger in. “This will do for now.”

Her mouth returns to your clit and you spasm around her finger as she crooks it inside you. All of a sudden your eyes roll back at the sensation, and grinning, she adds another finger. With both of them hooked inside you, brushing that spot you’ve never known before, she flexes her fingers as she sucks at you. As her fingers piston in and out of you, your hips jerk upwards to meet her thrusts, desperate to feel more of her. When she adds a third finger, stretching you deliciously you keen and clench your fingers deep in the fur rug. She’s relentless, ruthless as she brings you closer and closer to the edge, lips locked around your clit and fingers fucking into you. Your breaths become more and more shallow, gasping for air as you feel something build in your pelvis that spreads throughout your body. Suddenly your hand flies to grip at her hair and she growls at your tugging, fingers moving even faster. You’re calling her name, swearing your undying love to her, swearing your body to her as she brings you over the edge. All of a sudden your back bows off the cushions and you throw your head back, a loud, lingering moan exploding from your lips. She continues to work her fingers and mouth on you through your climax, relenting only when you beg her to stop. As your breaths heave from you, she draws away from you and removes her fingers. You’re loath to lose the feeling of being so full but when you see her appearance, you’re filled with a simmering desire. Her hair is a mess from being in your clutches, face sopping wet from the nose down and a vicious grin on her face. Not breaking eye contact with you she wipes her face on the back of her sleeve before crawling up your body and settling beside you.

“Cirrus,” you breathe, only now calming down from your high, “that was…I’ve never…”

She chuckles and pulls a blanket at your feet over the both of you, drawing you into her warm embrace. The space is surprisingly cozy despite being deep within a cave.

“My girl,” she murmurs, kissing your temple and wrapping an arm around your waist. “Thank you for giving me the honor of ruining you.”

You want to roll your eyes and give her a look, but she’s right. As if you could be with anyone else after…after that.

“What now?” you say quietly, toying with the sleeve of her blouse.

“What do you mean?” she asks, leaning away to look at you. “I told you you’re mine. I always mean what I say.”

Suddenly, you��re filled with a rush of warmth that starts in your belly and spreads to the tip of your head down to your toes. You think of your old life - your horrible guardians, stodgy suitors, boring balls - and you grin.

“Never pictured myself as a highwaywoman’s mistress before,” you say, tucking your head into her. “I quite think it will suit me.”

[whumpy-writings]

Bloodbag: An Of Vampires and Men Serial

I've been working on this story since November, and I'm super excited for y'all to finally get to read it! Tobias and Bloodbag are side characters in Cry of Fangs, so this story is a bit of a prequel.

Bloodbag is a serialized novella set in the Of Vampires and Men world. It takes place in the city-state of Cesvic, right on the border between Lucia and Torin. We follow a vampire named Tobias, who becomes the reluctant caretaker for a human named Bloodbag. (Yes, it's the classic "whumpee things caretaker is their new master" trope.)

Bloodbag will be exclusively available two places: on Amazon's Kindle Vella and on my Ko-Fi page. The first three episodes are live right now and you can read them for free over on kindle vella. Vella is only available for readers in the USA, so if you're international make sure to check out my ko-fi! I will be releasing one episode every week for the next three months. Expect lots of whump, angst, and fangs. Check out the links below to start reading!

Thank you to the lovely Catherine Reynolds of catherinecreates.art on insta for creating this awesome cover art!

Tagging the vampire squad: @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whump-cravings @thecyrulik @neverthelass @michelleswhumpyreblogs @whumpsy-daisy @aswallowimprisoned @secretwhumplair @whumpzone @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @nicolepascaline @susiequaz12 @princessofonwardsworld @itsleelover @pumpkin-spice-whump @wiwinia @sunflower1000 @whump-blog@blushing-snail @melancholy-in-the-morning @pizzasthengym @suspicious-whumping-egg@whumpsday@ceph-the-ghost-writer@inkkswhumpandstuff@whumpycries @quietly-by-myself @darlingwhump@whumpshaped@dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

[expectodragons]

Bitter Water || Chapter 4

✦ Summary: Guided only by a thin paper trail and a promising job offer, Catherine Hart returns to the school of her youth. Taking on the mantle of Beasts professor, the young witch must find a balance between her lessons and her continued search of the Highlands. Especially when under the watchful eye of the Potion Master. ✦ Pairing: Aesop Sharp x Female MC ✦ Word Count: 7,700 ✦ Rating: Mature, 18+ only - minors do not interact. ✦ Tags / Warnings: Age difference, colleagues-to friends-to-lovers, mild violence, references to creature cruelty, slow burn. ✦ Story Playlist: Listen here ✦ Read on: AO3 || Tumblr (continue below)

The Great Hall is warm and bright compared to the thundering storm clouds currently drenching the valley. Mr. Moon had every available enchanted mop working double duty on the entrances as they were currently covered in a thin inch of water and mud. Gratefully, it was a Sunday, and the rain had only begun in the faint morning hours.

Catherine slowly tucks into her potato soup, dabbing bits of soft bread in the thick broth as Ranira, seated next to her, loudly reads the Daily Prophet to her – though she certainly had never asked for it to be.

“Mr. Augustus Rickens claims the need for further security trolls to be a confounded idea brought about by the media frenzy that the last World Cup created. Though he was forced to admit that, should the German team wish to play in their home country, then England, by nature, would be reluctant to recant their initial invitation to host. This of course led to several outcries from dignitaries across the Isles. Including a Senior Minister, Mr. Alphard Malfoy who said –“

While Ranira pauses for a breath, her fingers clutching the pages so violently that they begin to shake, a lone hoot echoes across the hall when, down from the rafters, soars a large ruddy-brown owl.

It passes the tables of students and instead finds its way to the young professor. The Rufous owl perches on the edge of the staff table, nearly dropping the thick envelope it had been carrying directly into Catherine’s soup – though she manages to catch it before the letter totally submerges.

“What a handsome bird,” The alchemy professor comments.

The owl immediately turns its head towards her, squawking in reply. With a wry smile, Catherine pets the bird’s neck plumage before turning her attention to the envelope in her hand. After wiping the left corner clear of soup, she rips the parcel open and unfolds the letter.

Written in elegant handwriting, she’s able to decipher the short message.

Cathy,

It would appear that my dear husband is rather forgetful. As he thought we had twenty-eight pairs of boots between us both, but I’m afraid we have only eleven. And to think, a new pair would cost us upwards of £21!

That’s all to say that we miss you dearly and we hope you enjoyed your time in Bouchar. We, unfortunately, had never heard of the city before you told us of it but it sounds lovely.

Oh, the owl’s name is Archimedes and he’s fond of eating assorted serpentines.

Best wishes, Miri

Surely it must be serious if her friend decided to encode an entire letter.

It takes her a moment to digest the message, a moment possibly too long as she finds the older witch seated beside her to be pointedly interested in her letter with that unnerving silver stare of hers.

“Correspondence from some old traveling friends,” she says airly, quickly tucking the letter away into her pocket.

Swiping up two pieces of bread, she extends her arm out for the owl, offering a chunk for him to eat as she gets out of her chair and rounds the table.

“Poor fellow, you must be exhausted. Where did you come from, eh?”

The owl nudges his head against her arm.

“Yes, yes. I imagine it was quite the journey.”

Catherine exits the hall, trying her best not to run, as she beelined for her quarters.

28, 11. 21. Bouchar. Serepentines.

The 28th of November. 21:00 hours.

Miriam, you wonderful woman you.

She all but runs to her chambers, desperate to write down the information before she burned the letter to ash.

On the third weekend in November, Catherine finds herself out in the middle of the courtyard with a warming charm to keep her from shivering as more and more students gather around the fountain.

Her breath twists up into the air like the icy smoke of a dragon.

Sterling finally comes down the steps of the Bell Tower with a wide grin, accompanied by the last few stragglers. She rubs at her arms, her red-tinged fingers digging into the woolen cloak sleeves.

“Alright, if that’s the last of you lot, let’s head on.”

She falls into step alongside him as the students hurry ahead up the road.

While it had been commonplace during her fifth year for the students to have access to the local village whenever classes were not in session, a rather unfortunate incident near the end of her fifth year – regarding her kidnapping by Victor Rookwood – ceased that leniency by Hogwarts staff. Now Hogsmeade visits were a supervised affair, usually contained to Saturdays.

This was her second time acting as a chaperon. Her first visit with Mirabel had been a highly entertaining affair. With Roland, she’s sure the excitement will be just about the same.

The valley is in a soft hibernation. Plants have wilted to a dull brown, the cries of local birds have vanished from the area, and frost lingers along the tall wisps of grass. Winter was still a distance away, but the reminder of its power remained.

Tucking her hands into the confines of her woolen cloak, she looks over at the Defense professor. A proud and determined look graces his features as he strides forward, dressed in a royal blue cloak that billows slightly behind him as he walks.

“So, Hart,” he turns his attention down toward her. “How did your students manage this past term?”

“Surprisingly well. Even the more… difficult cases seemed to be capable of proper handling techniques, despite their essays being atrocious.”

Sterling gives a polite laugh.

“I envy those of you who teach outside of the core curriculum. If you had a group of first years to worry after, I fear your answer may be different.”

She nods, “I imagine so. Luckily, that’s not the case.”

“Yes,” he says, dryly. “Lucky you.”

The majority of the students have already spread out to the local businesses by the time they enter the village.

A group of boys peers into Spintwitches’ front window – gawking over a new broom model Mr. Weekes had put on display. Further down, the pleasant thumping of a band inside the Three Broomsticks brings about a wide patronage of older students who clammer around the door for a Butterbeer.

“Oh, what have we here?”

Catherine watches as a small group of students sneaks along the side street heading towards the seedier part of the town.

“Professor, Sterling! Professor Sterling!” comes the cry of two young girls.

With a sigh, the young witch tilts her head towards the side street and Roland nods – heading towards the concerned girls. Another shiver runs down her spine as the wind picks up.

Following after the students, she spies them up ahead, gazing into an oddity and collectible shop near the Hog’s Head. Its faded signage reveals no name, but the wares are clearly of a particular form of magic.

“Gentlemen, ladies,” she clears her throat.

Five pairs of heads turn around, looking rather sheepish.

“Do you need assistance finding the main road?”

“No, professor.”

She gives a nod, folding her arms across her chest as she watches them slowly skirt around her.

“Then off with you.”

With another shake of her head, she follows behind the wandering group. Once they’re back on High Street, Catherine watches them take off in the direction of Zonko’s.

The entire trip was rather uneventful after that.

She stops a fourth-year from throwing a Clobber Ball in the middle of the crowded street. Assists in directing a fifth-year prefect to aid a third-year back to the infirmary after consuming too many Pepper Imps. And finds herself comforting a distraught sixth-year with a cup of tea over her very abrupt break-up with her boyfriend of one month.

By the time she and Sterling wrap up the trip and count the heads, she’s more exhausted than when she stayed out on her first welcoming weekend with the rest of the faculty.

“Oh, Roland. Would you mind? I almost forgot. I need to have a quick chat with Ellie Peck over my new feed supply schedule.”

With a tired smile, he nods, “I think I can manage the unruly lot back to the castle.”

“Thank you, and safe travels.”

She watches as the wizard heads on ahead of her, wrangling up the last few students outside of Tomes & Scrolls. Casually as she can, Catherine walks down the main street before she ducks along the side road, keeping her head down as she winds around the path to the Hog’s Head.

Squeezing along the worn gravel trail between the buildings, she steps up onto the squeaky boards of the dock. Unloading boxes from a larger crate in the back, she spots him. A boy, no older than twenty, with bright auburn hair and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He hefts another box of ale into his arms and carries it through the backdoor of the pub.

Leaning against the open crate, she waits.

“Hello, Abe.”

The boy grunts, gesturing for her to move aside. Catherine peers into the crate as he digs down for another box. Sweat clings to his brow while she tugs her cloak closer. Down by the water, the air seemed absolutely frigid, but not for the boy apparently.

“I have nothing for you, Hart.”

She lays a hand over his arm, keeping him from moving. There’s a dangerous glint in her eye when he meets her gaze.

“I somehow doubt that, Aberforth.”

With a deep sigh, he drops the box and flicks his wand at the door, closing it. He glances around at the empty dock with a calculated look before he finally digs his hands into his pockets and leans against the crate.

“A man was here a week and three days back. Said somethin’ or another about a shipment from Morocco coming along.”

“What’d he look like?”

From his pocket, he retrieves a cigarette. Catherine wandlessly lights it for him and he takes a long drag.

“Tall fella, dark beard with a swirling sort of tattoo by his right eye.”

The smoke rings float into the sky before they dissipate. The thick stink of tobacco lingers around them both as the boy flicks his ashes into the dark water below.

“Don’t know much more than that.”

“Was he with anyone?”

“A pair came in after him, no one from around here. Gal who kept her hood on the whole time and a man with shoulder-length brown hair and a pig-like face. Ivan kept me to the back most of the evening, so I only caught that bit about Morocco when I came in with another bottle of ‘78 out.”

With a nod, Catherine digs into her coin purse and pulls out two galleons – depositing them into the boy’s outstretched palm.

“Let me know if you hear anymore, or if you see any of them back here again. Alright?”

The boy sniffs, taking a final drag of his habit before he flicks the stub into the river and sets off back to work. She watches him, only for a moment longer, before she heads back to the main road and begins the long journey back to the school.

Catherine smells the warm brew of coffee wafting through the air as she approaches the familiar classroom. While it was a Saturday, and the majority of the school was preparing for the next quidditch match set to take place in an hour’s time, she was none-too-surprised to see the resident Potion Master sequestered away in his office.

She leans against the open doorway, watching as his quill scratches against the piece of parchment before him.

“One usually knocks,” he mutters.

“Apologies,” she smiles lightly, as she crosses the threshold.

Sharp finishes off the last few lines before he places the quill in the small dark inkpot on his desk and gives her his attention.

Hefting the small cloth parcel in the air, she says, “Thought I’d drop this off before the match.”

Begging her forward with his hand, she deposits the bag, allowing him to untie the small knot at the top.

She sinks down into the chair opposite him, tugging her scarf from out of her pocket.

“Courtesy of my fifth-years.”

A lone brow raises as he stares at the neatly separated bundles of Kneazle hair. With a nod, he merely folds the parcel back up and leans back in his seat.

“Howin’s method of delivery was far less desirable than this. I had knotted furballs appearing around my office for months.”

She laughs, “That sounds about right. But, as a bit of a potioneer myself, I know what the ideal presentation of ingredients should look like. Try not to fault her too hard.”

Sharp grabs hold of the steaming mug of coffee and takes a thoughtful sip, “It still surprises me that you went after the career you did. Your marks in my class were always near the top.”

With a shrug, “The potion-making field is overcrowded as is. The lengths it takes some people to break into the market is just unfathomable. Whereas the need for beast tamers is surprisingly large.”

“Perhaps not that surprising.”

Another smile breaks across her face, “Okay. Yes, the job has its hazards. But you would honestly be surprised by the lack of training some of them in the field actually have. That probably explains the numbers.”

He gives a soft hum of contemplation as he finishes off his drink.

“Anyway, just wanted to pass that along before the match, which… I should probably be heading to if I want to find a decent seat.”

As she stands from the chair, so does the potions professor as he reaches over to the coat rack and grabs a heavier woolen coat.

“Oh, are you actually going this time? Not just waiting for the betting pool to finish up?”

Sharp shakes his head, a smile on his face as he slips his arms into the sleeves of his overcoat.

“If it failed to cross your mind, I last assured you that I attend the games when Slytherin is set to play.”

“Oh, of course. How careless of me to forget.”

Catherine scoots around the chair, waiting for the older man to round the desk. He peers down at her, extending his arm out toward the door. With a sheepish smile, she exits the office first, followed by her companion.

As they head down the spiral stairs of the tapestry corridor, she ties her scarf around her neck, tugging the blue tassels over her shoulders.

“Out of curiosity,” she starts. “Who do you honestly have your money on this time?”

Sharp glances down at her, a funny smirk on his face.

“What would I gain if I told you that?”

She laughs, “I for one, could care less about the betting pool you lot play around with. I’m asking from a strictly Quidditch enthusiast point of view.”

He huffs as they make it up the stairs to the Bell Tower.

Without a proper reply, Catherine continues, “See, I would have to say Hufflepuff for any other occasion. But I’ve seen the way Slytherin’s been training. They’re downright brutal out there – even when they’re playing against each other. I can’t imagine they’ll be anything but a force to be reckoned with when they’re out there today.”

Outside, the bright afternoon sky grants the cool Autumn day with a rare swatch of pure sunlight. The warm rays shine down upon the courtyard, bathing the withering grass in glittering golden hues.

Sharp grins, “I won’t sway you either way, Hart.”

“Spoilsport,” she mutters, much to his amusement.

The stadium is packed today, as the weather is far more agreeable than the previous match at the beginning of the month. The enthusiasm seems to be higher as well, as she spots students in the Gryffindor sections waving bright yellow flags and streamers. Of course, the age-old rivalry would keep them from ever supporting the snake house.

And while her own biases usually followed the same line of thinking, today she was prepared to dip into the forbidden water in favor of winning a few extra galleons.

They take their time on the stairs up to the faculty tower. She almost wants to laugh when they emerge, as there is an almost visible line directly down the benches – with half the staff supporting Hufflepuff and the other supporting Slytherin.

Mirabel quickly beckons her over, but she has to give a sad shake of her head as she joins Abraham and Roland. The face the herbology professor gives her is one of shock and disappointment and it takes all her strength not to laugh at the poor expression.

“Ah, Sharp! Was wondering when we’d see you up here again.”

“Oh, Roland. You know he only comes to see his House win,” Abraham teases, patting an empty spot next to him.

Aesop sits down on the bench behind her as she takes the only other available spot next to Sterling.

“See we’re cheering on the same team this time,” he comments.

She gives a sad little glance over to Mirabel, who was now cozying up with Matilda and Mudiwa.

“Let’s just hope your luck is a little more fortunate this time,” Catherine teases.

With a wry grin, Sterling passes around the betting marks. She tosses in five galleons for the team win, as well as an extra two for the score. 280 to 310, Hufflepuff catches the snitch but loses the match. The young professor shrugs when the Defense professor gawks at her.

“Seriously? Okay, we have a score bet! Who wants to try and top it?”

A couple other professors whip their heads around and toss their coin in as well. She hears the potions professor chuckle lowly behind her and she can’t help but turn around.

“Willing to risk it, Sharp?”

His dark eyes bore into her before the makings of a smirk befall his lips.

“Not a chance, Hart.”

Her eyes harden in challenge, “What? Think you won’t get close to my bet?”

There’s a moment, where his gaze becomes like a brewing storm, and then he grins.

“Ten galleons, Sterling. 250 to 285, in favor of Slytherin.”

The young professor marks that down on the scorecard and gladly pockets Sharp’s money away. Aesop leans back, looking surprisingly pleased with himself while Catherine chooses the moment to childishly stick her tongue out at him before turning back around.

Slowly, the crowd grows louder with chants for the teams. Like a Graphorn in battle, the Slytherin team comes charging out onto the pitch – blazing through the sky with pride as they lift their hands up to stir the students into a further frenzy. Hufflepuff’s team zigs and zags across the field, flying directly over the heads of the Slytherins as they circle back around to their side of the pitch.

She’s on the edge of her seat as Kogawa flies into the center of the field with the Quaffle.

There’s an instant scuffle for the ball when she blows the whistle. It’s a flash of green and yellow robes. A blaze of yellow careens toward the end goals, only for a Slytherin chaser to knock into their broom – sending the Quaffle off into the stands. Boos and cheers alike echo out from the students.

Catherine blows warm breath into her hands as the ball is captured and tossed back into play.

The first goal goes to Slytherin, as well as the second and third. They get fouled immediately after as a Hufflepuff chaser spirals to the ground after taking a bludger to the head. Blainey levitates the poor girl off onto a stretcher while the team calls in their reserve player.

And then it seems the yellow team regains their strength, hitting back at Slytherin with all their might. They make five goals in the span of minutes, much to the lackluster groaning from Sterling sat beside her. Mirabel, on the other hand, is ecstatic as she cheers loudly.

A flash of gold catches her eye, high above the Ravenclaw tower on the opposite side of the pitch – and it seems the Slytherin seeker has spotted it too, as she rushes off after it. Catherine has to crane her neck back as the two seekers follow after the ball, far beyond her classroom, toward the Black Lake.

When she turns back to the game, she can feel Sharp’s knee pushing against her back as he leans forward. The Slytherin beaters are in a back-and-forth with Hufflepuff down on the other side of the pitch, and they’re all looking worse for wear because of it.

Soon, the score is soaring up higher than anyone expected.

“Another ten points for Slytherin,” the student announcer bellows. “If Vance can get the snitch, Slytherin will be at the top of leader board for the Quidditch Cup. Oh – it looks as if Warrington and Macnair are in trouble now!”

Kogawa sends another foul to Slytherin after they rammed Grant Powell into the goalposts and promptly knocked him out and off his broom. Blainey seems to have her hands full again down on the ground.

A new keeper gets substituted in and the game resumes.

“Theseus Scamander has his work cut out for him in his first official game – oh and that’s an unfortunate pass by Cygnus Black, as Slytherin racks up to 260 points.”

“Come on Bones, you can do this!” Mirabel shouts at the passing Chaser.

“Ooh,” Catherine winces as another goal is blocked by Slytherin’s keeper. She leans over to Roland, “It’s just getting painful at this point.”

“Exciting, isn’t it?” he beams.

Abraham says something to Sharp above the roar of the crowd and she can hear the two men openly laughing behind her. As she glances back to see what the fuss is about, she spots the two seekers flying back across the courtyard. She jumps to her feet – gaining the attention of the rest of the faculty in the stand.

“Come on, Vance!” Sterling roars in support.

“Yes, Whitby!” She hears from the Hufflepuff side of the stands.

Catherine follows the snitch as the glinting sunlight bounces off it – the two seekers drop down across the pitch, while Slytherin scores another goal in the process. Screams ring out in both directions. Hufflepuff’s captain is trying to rally her Chasers for another attack on the goalposts, while Macnair nearly knocks Bones off her broom with a bludger.

Another skirmish breaks out as Slytherin snatches the Quaffle back and takes towards the posts – just as Whitby flies back into view, his outstretched fingers nearly glancing the snitch.

“Berle passes to Walsh. Walsh takes the hit and, YES! Another ten points to Slytherin. Oh, there’s Vance now – it’s an all-out battle for the snitch now, Ladies and Gentlemen. Macnair takes aim and Whitby just ducks out of the way at the last second!”

Catherine glances over at the scoreboard, fully on the edge of her seat as the seekers make another lap of the pitch, following after the golden ball. Vance nearly knocks the Hufflepuff seeker off course, but he manages to righten himself at the last moment and –

“Yes! Yes, that’s it, folks! Whitby has caught the snitch. With 270 points to 300, Slytherin wins the match!”

A raucous chorus of boos and cheers echoes throughout the stadium as the Slytherin team takes their victory lap.

Sterling shakes her frozen hand, “Congrats to you two, it seems you’re walking away with quite the winnings today!”

She looks back at Sharp with a beaming smile, his own amused eyes meet her gaze as he claps for the team as they fly past the faculty stands.

Catherine counts out the twenty-seven gold pieces now in her possession as everyone begins to file down the stairs. She offers a tender grimace toward Mirabel as she passes.

“Better luck next time, yeah? They still have a chance to win the cup.”

She smiles in return, “While they might not have the same bite as other teams, their bark is certainly tougher.”

Waterford gently pats the herbology professor’s shoulder as they head down to the courtyard. Sterling is still there, dusting off his robes.

“That was uncanny luck, you two. I’ve never seen a bet so close before!”

The young witch shrugs, “I get the unfair privilege of being able to watch the teams practice every week. And this one is just too observant –“ she looks back at Sharp with a wily grin.

Aesop pockets the galleons away, a pleased smile on his face.

“Hart, you flatter me.”

Together, the three professors make their way down the wooden stairs.

“I imagine Blainey will have her hands full tonight,” Roland comments lightly.

Catherine huffs, “That’s an understatement. Those poor students, a bludger to the head is nasty business.”

“You played?” the Defense professor asks as they head towards the castle.

She nods, rubbing her hands together, “Seventh year. Seeker.”

He grins, “Chaser, from fourth year on.” Sterling glances back at Sharp for a moment, “What about you, Aesop? Ever played?”

Catherine turns her attention to the potions professor as well, curiosity piqued.

Sharp grunts as they make it along the gravel path, his pace slowed slightly, “Beater, actually. Third year through sixth.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” she wonders aloud, shaking her head slightly.

He glances down at Catherine with a raised brow. She just grins in return, lightly nudging his arm with her left elbow.

Roland holds the door open for them both, smiling cheerily as he asks, “So, celebratory drinks in the staff lounge?”

Aesop inclines his head in agreeance to the idea, but Catherine quickly shakes her head.

“ ’Fraid you’ll have to go on without me. I have a prior engagement I really must be getting around for.”

Sterling’s expression simmers slightly, the faintest frown upon his usually bright features, “Shame. Sharp, you’re up for a bit of indulgence though, aren’t you?”

She finds the potions professor studying her in quite a focused fashion. As though she was a puzzle he was trying to sort out. His gaze finally lifts to meet the other man’s.

“I suppose I could find the time.”

“Excellent! We’ll have a drink in your honor, Hart,” he beams before he takes to the stairs.

Catherine offers the older man a faint smile before she heads down the stairs toward her chambers without another word.

Crosskirk was a tiny hamlet near the northern tip of the country. While the weather was currently unagreeable in the Highlands, near the Bay it was downright unruly. Thick gray clouds rolled overhead as the crash and thunder of the waves hitting the rocks below kept one from truly knowing if a storm was approaching or not. The wind itself was terribly ferocious out here on the cliffs, a true gale brought from the north sea.

While the village was relatively populated by Muggles, there were a few hidden magical gems about.

Particularly in the ruins of the old castle north of the hamlet.

To the non-magical eye, it appeared for all the world to be a relic of centuries lost. To the passing wizard or witch, however, one could find a lively and bustling marketplace.

She had managed to sneak away one quiet Sunday after receiving Miriam’s letter – just to get her barrings about her before she attempted… what she was about to do.

Rummaging through the contents of her travel bag, she procures the potion she had kept close to her person these last few weeks. An old trick she had learned from a previous professor.

Attached to the stopper, a small vial is tied with three silver-colored hairs contained inside. Plucked from the head of a drunken wizard down in Sussex when she first arrived in English territory four months back.

Crouching down, Catherine tugs the vial free and pulls the stopper out with her teeth. Flicking back the lid on the rounded container, she carefully drops the hairs inside – watching them disappear into the foul green liquid.

Polyjuice is a nasty thing to down, no matter how many times you manage it. In the coastal market, not many heads would turn at the sight of a weathered old wizard. With a quick conjuration of her clothes into a more appropriate attire, the now disguised witch makes her way to the magical market.

Perhaps as a bit of a caution, she keeps her head down and adds a slight limp to her gait. An almost too-perfected move, Catherine will admit with some sense of guilt. This was not her first time trapezing around in the body of another, and it was unlikely to be her last.

The roads are crowded with patrons. A rich mixture of smells wafts through the air – hardy spices, warm baked goods, heavy herbs, and sweet flowers. The stalls are filled with the usual fares: garden plants and potion ingredients, while the occasional sutler has a selection of robes or books for sale. But what she seeks is a bit farther from reach.

She keeps her eyes peeled for a man with a swirly tattoo near his eye. A pig-faced man with shoulder-length hair. But no one matches the description which was perhaps wishing for just too much.

Further down, a large stall has a stack of cages and tiny covered paddocks with noisy creatures. Nothing suspicious of course, all the typical fare. Kneazles, Crups, Puffeskeins, and a few owls resting on metal hanging perches.

“Looking for anything in particular, old timer?”

She gazes up at the portly man lounging upon a stool, a hand-carved pipe between his fingers.

“No – nothing here’s caught my eye yet,” her voice is now that of a deeper masculine rumble and she unintentionally clears her throat to rid herself of it.

“Specialty wares then?”

The man glances around at the other milling patrons before beckoning her forward.

“That is… if you’re not interested in the usual type of items?”

She gives a slight shake of her head, surprised by how willing the man was being about openly discussing the topic. As though he had nothing to truly fear here.

“Meaning?”

He reels back, “Well, that is to say, I know some types are a bit harder to find around these parts. Porlocks and the like.”

With a conjured breath, she asks, “And if I was interested in something a bit more, how shall we say, exotic?”

The man’s eyes gleam.

“I thought you might be the type. Here’s what you want to do, back down that row, third vendor on the left – with the blue and green awning – ask to see Owen. He’ll get you hooked up with what you’re looking for.”

She tilts her head down, “Much obliged.”

“Of course,” he grins.

Miriam’s coded letter had told her that the next big shipment would be arriving around the 28th of November, roughly around 9 p.m. that evening. And while she had no information to give about Bouchar, this was a step in the right direction.

So, Catherine follows the vendor’s directions and finds herself standing before a barren little display. A wooden rack with hanging amulets strung upon braided cords, tiny crystals, and pendants; two boxes of tarot cards, and a few measly bags of tea leaves.

A young witch with limp red hair peers up from behind the stall.

“Can I help you?”

She clears her scratchy throat, “I was told to come see Owen?”

With a nod, she kicks a stack of crates beside her with her boot. Slowly, the lid lifts, and a man’s head appears from inside.

“Someone here to see you, love.”

The man in question gazes over at Catherine, a slow grin befalling his features as he pops further out from the box. He has a head of mousy brown hair, a pair of chilling gray eyes, and a rounded face with an upturned sort of nose that almost resembled… a pig.

“Well, come on in – if you think you can manage. Don’t need the Auror’s sniffing about, do I?”

Quick as she can with an exaggerated gait, Catherine makes her way over to the crate and peers down at the ladder. She hefts her leg over the edge, finding a rung, before she manages to climb down. The woman places the crate lid back over once her head’s through.

Though the area is not shrouded in darkness by it, in fact, it’s lit by several torches around a small dungeonous room; an office of sorts. The man waves her over, pointing to a wooden chair near a simple table in the corner. He takes a seat opposite her and pulls out a blank book.

“Now, I’m guessing this might be your first time here, yeah? But not the first time in the trade.”

“No, no,” she agrees, folding her leg over her knee. “First time in this market though.”

“Oh, good. Then you know the procedure. So,” he clasps his hands together in a fist and rests them on the table in front of him. “What’re we looking for today?”

Catherine gives a good-natured sigh, “Would you be willing to indulge the folly of an old man for a minute?”

With an agreeable nod, she continues.

“I have searched and searched, from Knockturn Alley to the backstreets of Pillworth. Perhaps you can finally be the one to help me in my endeavor.”

The man grins like a leech, leaning forward, “You’ve got my attention, old man.”

She rests her feet on the floor and bends forward in a conspiratory fashion.

“Occamys.”

With a breath of disbelief, he shakes his head, “Don’t know where you get off thinking a place like this would have bloody Occamys for sale. But I assure you, even if I did have one to spare, it certainly wouldn’t come cheap. Coin I’m sure a man of your position couldn’t even dream of having.”

“Indulge me,” she says. “How much?”

He gives an incredulous laugh, “Alright, alright –“ The man leans back, scratching his chin in thought, “If I had to place a number on them, I would say…. Two thousand, each.”

“And, in this scenario where I had such money to spend, how many would you have to sell?” she asks with an airy tone.

Another laugh, then he says, “Six. Though you might manage to get your worth out of them, think there’s a few nesting mums in the mix. If, I had them, of course.”

“Of course,” she nods congenially.

“Perhaps I can find something more in your price range though? I hate to turn away a willing customer.”

She gives a shrug, pulling out her drawstring leather coin pouch.

“Or, perhaps we can talk business.”

With a shove, the purse sails across the table – landing directly in front of the man – who, after a moment, unties the bag and peers down into the bottomless pouch.

“Now, hold on a second…”

Catherine leans back in the chair, her arms crossed, a proud smile on her face.

“Now, maybe we got off on the wrong footing,” the man schools his eager expression as best he can. Setting the pouch to the side – though his fingers seem to linger – he says, “While I might not have those lovely little creatures for you right now, I believe by tomorrow there might be a good chance I’ll have some in stock.”

“Ah, well, if the price you’re offering stays, then I might be able to stick around till morning.”

“Fair enough,” the man stands, as does Catherine, who then shakes his hand vigorously.

“Come back, ‘round six if you can, before the other stalls open back up. Sundays are usually slow, but we don’t need any more prying eyes, do we?”

With a playful wink, she releases her hand from the man’s grip. Though every other part of herself wanted nothing more than to drag her palm against her trouser leg – wishing to remove the invisible ick from the detestable man and his undesirable career choice.

Another parting word, and then she’s up the ladder and back out into the clouded light of the marketplace.

Tonight then.

She waits until she is well past the walls of the market before she apparates out of sight – holding back the urge to vomit, and not from the act of apparating.

“Expecto Patronum!”

The creature explodes from her wand’s tip, spinning about the air with its silvery wisps before its head appears in front of her.

“A message for Natsai Onai, if you will please.”

She presses a hand against the creature’s snout, speaking as clearly as she can, “Crosskirk at midnight. Send your best. And Natty? I was never here.”

With a nod, the patronus lifts into the air and soars out of sight – blending in with rolling dark storm clouds high above.

Catherine adjusts her dragonhide bracers before she coils her hair back into a tight bun. Dragging the black hood of her cloak over her head, she bends down – peering over the cliff face at the open mouth of the cave below. White sea foam crashes over the jagged rocks, frozen mist reaching out toward her.

The ship had been settled far out past the shoreline for the past hour, barely disguised by the shimmers of a disillusionment charm. While it could fool the Muggles and possibly even a few of her kind, Catherine could always see past the usual constraints of normal magic. A gift, of sorts.

Now… if you asked her fellow professors, they would say her dueling days were well behind her after the fall of Ranrok. She had become a studious learner in the aftermath – diligent in her lessons. The fire that burned inside her had dampened and she was no longer a cause of concern.

If you asked her old classmates, they would say that she had quit after receiving her posting at the Ministry a year after graduating. She had devoted herself to the job, aspiring to become the next big name in creature care.

If you asked anyone in her personal circle, however, they would tell you a very different answer.

While Catherine Hart was known for being a carer of creatures of all breeds and dispositions, she was also a well-known, and very heavily despised, figure amongst poaching groups.

The English Fury, she was called across Europe.

Cánrěn de nǚwū – The Cruel Witch, in the Far East.

Keeper of Beasts, in South Africa.

And, her more recent title, Cadela Loira – The Blonde Bitch, in Brazil.

While her skills at fifteen had been remarkable, at the time, they had remained largely unrefined during her school years. There hadn’t exactly been a guidebook on her particular abilities, let alone how to control those powers. While Percival Rackham had given her as much advice as he could, there was a difference between theoretical studies and real-world application.

Her time at the Ministry had given her a small preview of what she could accomplish.

But her time alone, in the field? That was where her true abilities began to shine. Particularly when it came to poachers.

Catherine was not a cruel person, though some may have viewed her otherwise. The Unforgiveables would never pass through her wand so long as she still had breath left in her lungs. There was a delicate dance she managed now with her spellwork. And sometimes, the inability of a poacher to cast a quick enough Protego simply meant their downfall.

And though it had been five months since her last proper fight, she felt no apprehension in descending the cliffs when the ship anchored itself in front of the cave’s entrance.

She was not a fool anymore – that’s why she had bothered to alert Natty. She was twenty-eight, not immortal. She no longer carried the weight of the wizarding world upon her shoulders and she was all too well aware of her own mortality. She carried the scars to prove it, should anyone ask.

Crouched behind a jagged rock, she lays in wait as the ship’s crew begins to prepare for unloading.

“Homenum Revelio.”

Like radiant beacons of spirits, the men’s bodies light up under the detection spell. She counts thirteen on the boat alone.

Inexplicably small crates are levitated off the ship – disappearing further into the cave system. Her anger only increases once she catches the cries of distress over the thunderous crash of the waves.

One by one, she watches the boxes get offloaded. Forty-three in total. No larger than a typical house cat.

The lights dim from the ship and the crew begins to walk down the gangplank into the cave. Checking her pocket watch – 11:09 – she reaches into her bag and pulls out the last necessary brew. The shimmering silver swirls of the Invisibility potion are indefinitely easier to swallow than the Polyjuice. At once, she disappears from view and makes her way down to the cave.

Gripping her wand, she slithers along the damp cavern wall – the splash of frozen surf drenches her clothes in icy seawater, but she bites her tongue and keeps pressing forward. Up ahead, the rowdy chatter of men around an open fire garners her focus. There were roughly twenty of them sitting around, digging into their meal.

Looking back towards the emaciated Hippocampuses, she aims her wand and silently casts Diffindo at their chains. The removal of the magically enhanced bonds makes the collars around the beasts’ necks unclasp leading to happy neighing as the dozen or so creatures dive back into the sea.

Sweeping her gaze across the cave, she spots three men in front of the large stacks of wooden crates.

“Bloody beast don’t know what’s good for him,” one says with a bark of laughter as he kicks the box with his boot.

Inching closer, though hidden behind a large stack of empty iron cages, she aims her wand at the three oblivious guards.

“Obdormiscere,” she whispers, repeating the enchantment for each man.

The first begins to sway on his feet, the second yawns loudly with a stretch, and the third leans against a crate before they all slowly sink down to the wet cavern floor in a deep slumber.

Luckily for Catherine, this doesn’t raise the suspicion of the others around the fire, as she quickly crosses the cave toward the crates.

She lets out a soft whistle as she scans each box. Again and again, waiting for the familiar echo – but only the distressing whines and howls of captured beasts can be heard. She sadly pats one crate with her palm.

“You’ll be out of here soon, I promise.”

With a soft utterance of Protego placed around the crates, she takes a breath. Turning her attention toward the other poachers, she raises her wand – her blue eyes hardening to an ominous dark ink as she points the tip at the ceiling directly over their fire.

“Bombarda.”

The resulting BOOM and crashing of shattered rock sends the men flying and she can’t help but let out a pleased grin as the effects of her potion wear off and she drops her hood.

“Depulso!”

Aesop had just finished his meal and had watched his plate disappear from the table when several owls soared down into the Great Hall. While receiving post was rare on a Sunday, there was a particular occasion for anything to be delivered. His familiar Great-Horned owl came along to drop a bundle down on the table before he flew off to the rafters.

He unties the string around his rolled-up edition of the Evening Prophet and begins to read over the major headlines. Further down the staff table, Shah and Aragon are also perusing their own copies.

The usual fare of Ministry dealings covers the front page, while, on the second, something of a new interest captures his attention. His eyes dart over the lines with keen interest.

With a huff, he lowers the paper and directs it towards his seated companion.

“Point of interest for you, Hart.”

“Hmm?” the young witch glances up from her steak and kidney pie, her cheeks puffed up with her bite. With a sheepish look, she quickly swallows and grabs hold of the page. Her eyes dart across the paper before they’re directed by the gentle tap of his finger.

“Poaching Ring discovered in Northern Hamlet?”

Aesop hums in a gravely tone, leaning over to stare at the article alongside her, “It appears the Auror department uncovered them just last night – some fifty exotic beasts were in tow.”

“Poor things,” she murmurs. Her dull eyes glimmer down the lines as she absorbs the entry. “An Erumpent? Six Occamys? Runespoors? A bloody Sphinx?” At the slip, she quickly covers her mouth and offers an embarrassed sorry.

He clears his throat, “Off to be sold for bits and pieces, I imagine.”

She nods, glancing back at him as she returns the paper, “They’re not exactly well-known for being particularly good house pets, no. Shame it doesn’t say what happened to the poachers though.”

Folding the paper in half and flipping the page to the upcoming Quidditch matches, he merely adds, “Likely off being questioned and booked. The article didn’t mention any fatalities, surprisingly. They must have a new code of ethics at the Auror office.”

Hart gives a snort of amusement, making him raise his brow. But she just shakes her head and returns to her meal. He misses the creeping smile that crosses her lips as she raises her goblet to them. A certain glimmer in her unusually dark eyes.

Aesop reads his fill of articles and opinion pieces before he folds the paper onto the table. With a tired groan of discomfort, he manages to stand from his chair – offering a parting word to his colleagues – before he begins to head back to his quarters for the night.

He does notice the young professor slyly draw the evening paper closer to her, unfurling the neat creases, and staring quite intently at a particular article. But he thinks nothing of it as he passes the Slytherin table – instead concerning his thoughts to a stack of sixth-year essays that were still awaiting him at his desk.

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[peregrination-studies]

23 books in 2023

Thank you for the tag @the---hermit !! I did this challenge last year (available here), and finished all the books on my main list just in the nick of time! I’ve been planning this list out since about July of last year, and I’m really excited to get started on it! I’m also doing a few additional lists (ocean-themed, seasonally themed, etc.) that I might post throughout the year. We shall see!

Environmental science/ecology

1) Sand County Almanac by Aldo Leopold (also recommended by friends) (read Dec 2023)

2) The Lost Art of Reading Nature’s Signs: Use Outdoor Clues to Find Your Way, Predict the Weather, Locate Water, Track Animals — And Other Forgotten Skills by Tristan Gooley (read December 2023)

3) Listening to Whales by Alexandra Morton (read April 2023)

4) The World is Blue by Sylvia Earle (read August 2023)

5) Being Salmon Being Human by Martin Lee Mueller (read May 2023)

Classics/Rory Gilmore Reading Challenge

6) Timeline by Michael Crichton (read Jan 2023)

7) The Awakening by Kate Chopin (read Nov 2023)

8) Girl, Interrupted by Susanna Kaysen (read Nov 2023)

9) A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers (read Nov 2023)

10) Outlander by Diana Gabaldon (read March 2023)

Reading around the world

11) The Lost City of The Monkey God by Douglas Preston (Honduras) (read Nov 2023)

12) Alone on the Ice: The Greatest Survival Story in the History of Exploration by David Roberts (Antarctica) (read July 2023)

13) Long Walk to Freedom by Nelson Mandela (South Africa) (read Nov 2023)

14) Beyond the Last Oasis by Ted Edwards (Western Sahara) (read December 2023)

15) The Blue Sky by Galsan Tschinag and Katharina Rout (translator) (Mongolia) (read Nov 2023)

Architecture and Design

16) The New Carbon Architecture by Bruce King (read Feb 2023)

17) Design with Life: Biotech Architecture and Resilient Cities by Mitchell Joachim and Maria Aiolova (read Feb 2023)

18) The Alchemy of Architecture: Memories and Insights from Ken Tate by Ken Tate and Duke Tate (read Nov 2023)

19) Houses that Can Save the World by Courtenay Smith and Sean Topham (read Jan 2023)

20) Speculative Everything: Design, Fiction, and Social Dreaming by Anthony Dunne and Fiona Raby (read Dec 2023)

Books recommended by friends

21) The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood (Read Jun 2023)

22) O Pioneers! by Willa Cather (Read Dec 2023)

23) Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir (Read Jan 2023)

BONUS

24) Saving Fish from Drowning by Amy Tan

25) Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand

26) Defenceless: Gli Ultimi Romantici by Giulia Vola (second year of this on my list bc I think I’ll FINALLY be able to have access to my copy again!! Woohoo!!)

27) Prisoners of Geography by Tim Marshall

28) Backpacked: A Reluctant Trip Across Central America by Catherine Ryan Howard

I really love this challenge, so I want to share it far and wide with the world, BUT I also know not everyone wants to do this, so absolutely no pressure tagging: @contre-qui @daydreaming-optimist @sweetlikehoneysteve @notetaeker @humble-boness @silhouette-of-sarah @willowstea @cheshire-castle-library @deirdredoodle @a-students-lifebuoy @phd-on-fire @amareteur @frithams @carefortheearth @ckmstudies @theskittlemuffin and anyone else who wants to!

[okiria]

Ref for my Gin/tama S/I, Ria!

Ria is one of the cat-eared Amanto (aliens) who was a soldier in a civil war on her planet. Once the conflict was resolved, she decided to go to Earth to sate her boredom. She begins following Sougo because she finds his antics entertaining, not understanding the gravity of them. Sougo is reluctant towards her presence at first, but eventually finds she can be fairly useful (and maybe he appreciates the company), and so allows her to tag along. I imagine the two would have a LOT of b-plots and mostly comedic antics that establish their chemistry until a more serious arc (think shinsen/gumi crisis arc) reveals how much they've grown to deeply care for each other. After that, Sougo appears gentler when alone with her, similar to how he only showed his soft side to his sister he loved and trusted.

More rambling and a bonus doodle under cut!

At first glance the middle drawing may seem OOC for Sougo, but it's based on how free and sweet he was around his sister, who he was totally comfortable with. I think he needs more people in his life to love (even if it's romantic rather than familial this time) so he can be more open like that more.

I don't want to fix him. I want to make him worse by being a total enabler.

Here's the bonus doodle:

I made a playlist too:

Also Ria's dress is partially based on this one! There are so many replicas idk who made the original, one person is selling it by Xian Xian but I may be able to track it down better once I have my laptop back

Also ik the other cat amanto (like Catherine) don't have tails but booooooo I want a tail!

Thanks if you've read this far! I'm still sleeping on a name for the tags, but I'm calling the ship name "okiria" :-)

[ncytiri]

OC TAG GAME

tagged by: @nuclearstorms, thank you bones!!! 💗 tagging: anyone who has ocs they want to talk about! please tag me if you do because i wanna read about yours!! template by @sehyune / picrew

✦ favorite oc

zafira al-sentinel (skyrim)

all of my ocs are so dear to me but i think if i had to pick one, it would be zafira <3 she is one of my oldest too (i think this year she will be maybeeeee 6 years old?) because i have been playing with variations of her since my junior year of high school so she is like a true day one :') she is such a sweetheart and loves helping people and loves animals!!! she's sort of a reluctant hero and didn't really wanna be dovahkiin but realized she could use her powers for good :')))

✦ newest oc

jang mi-cha (fallout 3)

i recently started playing fallout 3 for the first time since it came out??? because i rmr playing it when i was like 8 and being way too scared by it KSDLFKJS so i figured to give it another shot! so this is ms. mi-cha!! my lone wanderer and for my playthrough, she is half korean, half black (going off of the fact that catherine's game model is black which i never knew until i started going through the fallout wiki!) and she is a lil smartypants <3 and OFC she's bi (she dated amata when they were young teens but realized they were better as friends and they were each others first kisses!!)

✦ oldest oc

refer to the seventh question because i realized mara is in fact my oldest oc but i didn't wanna rewrite that here so yeah! see mara's info down there 🫶

✦ meanest oc

this is crazy i don't actually have a true mean oc... i can't help but make nice characters 😔 he doesn't count since he isn't my oc but i do play around with miraak from skyrim and he is such an asshole but he's my little asshole <3

✦ softest oc

deon cameron (state of decay 2)

MY SWEET BOYYYYY (i say abt a 25 year old man), deon is definitely the softest oc i have so far, he is the second in command, later the leader, of my first community in state of decay 2, the fragments! he took over the position after his best friend (and crush) max's mental health started to decline as a result of stuff he had to do as warlord (a subclass of hero in sod2) :( he is a very kind hearted man, always wanting what is best for the settlement and as a trader hero, he established a trading outpost at their homebase allowing for traders from around the region to come and trade! he also looooves animals and specialized in pathology to help create more plague samples and became one of the settlement's main medics! he is a very busy man but he doesn't care what is thrown his way, as long as it means that the settlement and the valley is safe!!

✦ most aloof/standoffish oc

venus (cyberpunk 2077)

it comes as no surprise as someone who was once embroiled in arasaka's innerworkings and coming from a family who was thoroughly involved in arasaka business would be standoffish but after being backstabbed by a higher up in a botched assassination attempt on another higher up and having everything she had worked so hard to earn taken away in the blink of an eye, it's no wonder that venus is the way she is :/ but don't let her steely expression and sharp words get to you too much, once you crack through her touch outer shell, you will find a woman who wants nothing more than to be loved and trusted :/ she rly does have a heart of gold tho, she kept it quietly but when she was still employed at arasaka, a small chunk of her paycheck went towards a school for inner city kids to help fund their educations and provide teachers with supplies 💗

✦ dumbest (affectionate) oc

mara sanchez (saints row 2)

i mean. if you have seen saints row 2 in any way, either played it or watched a playthrough of it, you will see how much of a dumb (affectionate) game it is 😭 i believe mara is my oldest oc omg... this bitch has been with me for 10+ years?? that's actually so crazy to think abt omg... anywho, mara is the boss of the third street saints and is genuinely one unserious women. she is fashionable as hell and likes to appear a professional, well kept lady but she is anything but 💀 has been caught streaking multiple times on the beach during a night out with her crew, once got stuck hanging out the side of a helicopter during a mission with her underwear on full display, advertises open house free weed "tastings" at the university district apartment, joined a coed curling team at the university when she was younger for the hell of it... just a very unserious woman

✦ smartest oc

xolia vene (star wars) and jang mi-cha (fallout 3)

i already mentioned mi-cha being a smart lady in her section but i felt i would mention her here once more <3 and ms. xolia my beloved... she is a benefactor for the resistance in my sequel trilogy rewrite and i can't decide whether i want her to run a nice nightclub or be like an art gallery curator that is able to shuffle money around without suspicion... but yes! she was orphaned as a young child and taken in by a wealthy family from naboo who later saw their oldest child become the senator of naboo and xolia sort of followed in her sister's footsteps during her teenage years, shadowing her and learning the inner workings of the galactic senate. she is a very attentive and smart woman and i love her dearly 💓

✦ oc you'd be best friends with irl

vernon (cyberpunk 2077)

VERNONNNNN named after vernon from the kpop group seventeen and also inspired by vernon himself! he is a nomad and just such a little comedian, even though he is a pretty quiet guy! like when he is in the right atmosphere, around the right people, he will be the absolute life of the party. he is a major cat lover and is looking to adopt whatever cat he might stumble upon in night city. i think vernon and i would get along super well for all of these reasons but specifically the part abt being cat lovers!

[theighthhorcrux]

Beginning with a team of home invaders terrorizing and murdering a family, we went to Catherine trying to contact Lindsey. Penny took Roby’s place at the crime scene, and Catherine took her place as head of the team. Penny got caught up starting at the bodies, and we got a classic music montage of the team working the scene. The handprint made the episode title make sense, and Catherine’s ‘overkill’ line cracked me up, not least because it sounded like something Grissom would have said. Catherine comforting Penny was sweet, and Folsom got relatively handsy with Allie considering he’s in a relationship, and she turned down Beau’s high five (:(). The killer wanting to get caught was interesting, Park and Allie experiencing the gun kickback was funny, and Catherine and Serena continued their trend of being an interrogating tag team. The revelation about the baby was intriguing, and the team’s caseload suddenly doubling was unenviable. Catherine reunited with Lindsey, who was reluctant to tell her she loved her, and Penny tried to block out her emotions by throwing herself into her work. The biological father unraveled some incredibly messy family history, and Catherine braved the pretty-scary mother alone. I liked the bit with Catherine talking about Lindsey and the mistakes she made, and her going full mama bear protecting the mother was a charged moment. The ending with Catherine holding the baby and getting the text from Lindsey was emotional and a nice way to end the episode.            

[stardancerluv]

Hello! I love writing. I try & proofread but I have dyslexia so there will be typos! (Sorry!) I also will always try and do justice to the concept of reader…who will always be Fem!Reader! There are some amazing writers, @mlmxreader @ronaldrx who are fantastic at Male Reader. I would not want to stomp on their territory! (Please don’t creep on their accounts!)

My writing is always for 18+ Even the fluffy ones since they may or may not reference issues that I don’t want someone 18 & younger to read.

I enjoyed Stranger Things since season 1. Steve & his friendship with Robin and Dustin…love it so much. I watched season 4 & I fell hard for Eddie Munson & Joseph Quinn!

So please… no drama! Comments…reblogs & feedback is always welcome! Finally, I do have a tag list..want on it? Just ask!! Thank you for reading!!!

I love what Joseph Quinn did with Eddie.

I decided to write my own version of Eddie that weaves in and out of the events of the season!

Blossoming of a Shy Violet 👈🏻 (click here to find current and track new chapter release!) Eddie is currently paused (wow! sorry didn’t realize its been so long!)

Summary

—-Eddie encounters the new girl in school after addressing his fellow students in the cafeteria. She is reluctant to get to know anyone. Can Eddie change her mind?

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader. It includes…fluffy, angsty, & smutty moments. 18 only….DNI if you are a minor.

Warning: includes (not limited to)… Esteem issues, bullying, murder referenced, underage drinking Virgin!Reader, oral m&f, PV sex, fingering, dom!Eddie (to a name a few)

Pumpkin and the Beast (click here for current and up to date chapter listings!)

——Bookworm, cutesy fem!reader gets into trouble at a party Eddie rescues her. It’s an established friendship, a few months in the making. Will explore what happens when opposites come together?

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader. It will include…fluff, angst, & perhaps smutty moments. 18 only….DNI if you are a minor.

Studying English Literature in college, I became a fan of Les Miserables. I enjoyed the various versions. I had never heard of the BBC!Version (till Joe) Enjolras was one of my favorite characters…viva revolution! I decided to write a story around him.

A Time to Love and To Fight 👈🏻 (click here to find current and track new chapter release!)

new chapters coming soon!!!

Summary

——Reader is her own girl. She has to take care of her household. By accident, she runs into Enjolras.

This story is Enjolras x Fem!Reader. This story now contains angst, fluff & smut!

Warning: French Revolution mind set (gonna try and capture this!) War themes, sickness, dated view of women!

I watched Catherine the Great & fell for Prince Paul. Growing up I heard many stories about Russia. This is why the story will be an AU of Prince Paul.

By the Light of the Silvery Moon (click here for new parts!)

—-Prince Paul has to deal with his mother & all of Russia. Its not long before he meets fem!reader & is engaged. Now he has to juggle that & the Russian court. Shortly, he weds his mother sends him away and he will not return the same Paul.

Warning: There will be fluff, angst, smut & supernatural elements! And lastly the reader is a fem!reader.

There Will Never Be Another You

Part One

Part Two

This is my attempt at writing a story for Grunauer. He truly deserved better then the cards he was dealt. Here I will try and do him justice.

Warning: There will be flufff…angst…smut and there may be some supernatural elements to it. Also will have a lot of dated thoughts on men & women. This will show how how be also will have a fem!reader. Enjoy!

All ❤️s, reblogs & feedback are welcome!

What the Emperor Wants

👆🏻(Link to master list) 👆🏻

Emperor Geta has recently acquired “reader” she is to do with as he pleases. What does that really mean? We are gonna learn what is to belong to Emperor Geta.

It will have mature themes throughout it!

❤️s, comments, feedback, & reblogs are always welcome!

Hello! 👋🏻 Like I said above…Been a fan of Stranger Things since season 1. Saw Eddie and fell hard for him & Joe. Steve’s arch is by far one of my fav bits of the show. There are so many…so many amazing Steve fanfics out there.

Never felt the need write one. That said, I do enjoy Joe Keery’s work. Most recently…Fargo Season 5 & Marmalade! Can’t wait to see Finally Dawn. That said, Fargo Season 5…his character Gator Tillman…has me in a strangle hold.

The Past Follows Like a Shadow

(Link leads to the chapters! 👆🏻)

This story is an AU to Fargo Season 5.

Gator Tillman…had a childhood friend who turned into a girlfriend till his dad put the kibosh to it. That girl is back in town. What will that mean for Gator…what will it mean to her??

All ❤️s, reblogs & feedback are welcome!

A Space Journey

👆🏻(link to master list) 👆🏻

Tyler Harrison, is a tough salvager working and & living on Jackson Star Mining Colony. He’s there with family and friends…and his girl. The company reaches out… enjoy!

18+ themes. Angst, Fluff & Smut

❤️s, reblogs, comments & feedback is always welcome’

P. S. In case…there is anyone still looking or wanting to read some Ewan McGregor fan-fiction & his amazing characters. Ewan McGregor Master List 👈🏻 Click here for all my Ewan McGregor Fan-fiction)

[causeiwanttoandican]

The Times

Prince William’s close friends on what makes him tick — and why he’s not trapped

March 20 2021, 6:00pm

As the world devours the Harry and Meghan interview, what’s going on with the brother who was left behind? He’s embracing his destiny, William’s close friends tell the Sunday Times royal correspondent, Roya Nikkhah

Next month Prince William will celebrate his tenth wedding anniversary — the day he became a duke and embarked on the most formative decade of his life. Back then, the tentative 28-year-old newlywed was not ready to devote himself entirely to royal duties. A decade on, he is in a very different position.

The job of being the heir to the heir to the throne, of finding a balance between life and duty, is difficult at the best of times. These are not the best of times. In their bombshell interview with Oprah Winfrey this month the Duke and Duchess of Sussex accused the royal family and the institution around it of racism and callous disregard for a suicidal newcomer, among many other damning charges. Harry the spare also declared that William was trapped within “the system … My brother can’t leave that system, but I have.”

In the immediate aftermath of the interview William was “reeling”, a source close to the duke says. “His head is all over the place on it.” Four days after the Sussexes had their say, he hit back during an engagement with the Duchess of Cambridge at a school in east London. Asked about accusations of racism, William retorted with restrained fury: “We’re very much not a racist family.” He also confirmed that he hadn’t spoken to Harry yet, “but will do”. By the weekend it emerged they had “been in contact”.

William is thought to have been less than thrilled a few days later when that conversation made global headlines after the American presenter Gayle King, a close friend of the Sussexes, revealed live on air that it had not been an easy chat: “I did actually call them to see how they were feeling,” she told viewers. “Harry has talked to his brother and he had talked to his father too. The word I was given was that those conversations were not productive.” The intervention prompted a senior royal source to say that “none of the households will be giving a running commentary on private conversations”.

A close friend of both brothers says Harry’s “trapped” comment was “way off the mark”, insisting that William does not see it that way. “He has a path set for him and he’s completely accepting of his role. He is very much his grandmother’s grandson in that respect of duty and service.”

When the Queen turned 90 nearly five years ago William admitted “the challenge” that “occupies a lot of thinking space” is how to “modernise and develop” the royal family, and make it “relevant in the next 20 years’ time”. Twenty years now seems like a very long time. In the hours and days after the Oprah broadcast, William was at the heart of all discussions with the Queen and the Prince of Wales about how to respond to the Sussexes. He was keen that the issue of race should be acknowledged in the Queen’s statement as an area of particular concern that “will be addressed”.

William has always railed against being a “ribbon-cutter royal” and the issues he champions — mental health, battling racism in football, homelessness and his ramped-up eco-warrior role — are a window into where the future King William V will take the House of Windsor. A friend says: “He’s a small-c conservative. He values tradition and the need to go around the country, but he realises he can make a difference beyond traditional royal duties.”

Today royal popularity is, to put it mildly, in a state of flux, but William’s strategy has been working. Post-Oprah, he ranks just below the Queen at the top of a YouGov poll of royals. Not so long ago such a position looked like a long shot, when the “workshy Wills” and “reluctant royal” tags plagued him and he was clocking up fewer days of royal work than his nonagenarian grandparents. Pictures of him hitting the ski slopes and clubs of Swiss resort Verbier in March 2017, missing a Commonwealth service that even the Duke of York flew back for, didn’t help.

After the lasting PR gold dust of the Cambridges’ 2011 wedding and the births of Prince George and Princess Charlotte, it was the first public nosedive for William, who was still working as an air ambulance pilot. “That pissed him off,” a friend says. “He was leaving home at 5.30am, getting home after dark and saving lives in between, but people were still being critical of his commitment to his [other] job.” William was based at Cambridge airport with East Anglian Air Ambulance for two years, where he was on call for “some very sad, dark moments”, often working “on very traumatic jobs involving children”. He later acknowledged that “after I had my own children … the relation between the job and the personal life was what really took me over the edge, and I started feeling things that I have never felt before”. But it was a job he loved, because of “working in a team … that’s something that my other job doesn’t necessarily do. You are more out there on your own.”

A former royal aide says: “Immediately after their wedding he had a very clear idea of the pace at which he wanted to take things.” William was adamant he wouldn’t curtail his day jobs, first as an RAF search and rescue helicopter pilot in Anglesey and then with the air ambulance. “If you’re not careful, duty can weigh you down an awful lot at an early age,” he said, insisting he didn’t “lie awake waiting or hoping” to be king. He delayed full-time royal duties until the autumn of 2017, when, acknowledging the Cambridges’ future required more time at “monarchy HQ”, they moved from Norfolk to London and George started school.

He’d had to fight his corner for the air ambulance role. A source close to William reveals “there were lots of raised eyebrows in the Palace when he wanted to do that. While the Queen and his father backed him, some senior courtiers questioned whether it was becoming of a future king to be doing a middle-class role, hanging out with ordinary people. They thought he wouldn’t stick it out, he’d find it boring, or was doing it out of stubbornness to put off royal duties. He was pretty bloody-minded about it, and determined that other people’s expectations in the media or the system shouldn’t get in the way of his own values.” In the wake of Harry and Meghan’s interview much has been speculated about the extent to which royal life is dictated by Palace officials, but it is clear that William has managed to forge his own path. Who knows how high those senior courtiers’ eyebrows rose in 2019, when William spent three weeks shadowing the spooks of MI5, MI6 and GCHQ to learn how they combat terrorism. He insisted on being called “Will” and lunching in the canteen every day.

Those closest to the duke say his resistance to the idea of full-time royal duties stemmed not only from a desire to achieve something for himself but also from a fear of the impact on his family life. Miguel Head worked alongside the prince for ten years until 2018, as William, Kate and Harry’s communications secretary and later as William’s private secretary. “In his role everyone’s going to tell you you’re marvellous,” Head says. “The RAF and air ambulance jobs were about knowing what his abilities were, what he was good at in his own right. Without that he’d still be hankering for something that was his own.” After children came along he says William developed a “visceral determination to give them a life of consistency and privacy that were missing for large parts of his own childhood”.

Another close aide says the plan enabling the Cambridges to have a few years of “normal” married life, away from the full-time glare of the royal spotlight, paid dividends: “For years, the battles around privacy and paparazzi intrusion were all-consuming. He wanted to know, could we build them a credible plan allowing them a family life while slowly increasing the profile of official life? It took years to get there, but the success of that plan allowed him to be confident and content in his role. He’s not worried about his kids’ privacy any more and he has been able to be the kind of dad he wants to be.”

“Marriage maketh the man,” a friend says. “Catherine’s groundedness has been the critical anchor. And where his relationship with the media was once all fury and frustration, he now understands using the power of modern media, so the public feel they’re getting enough access.”

The children’s birthdays are marked with photographs — often taken by the Duchess of Cambridge — and there has been a noticeable increase in their public appearances of late. While not “officially” staged, William was happy to let George and Charlotte be photographed at their first Aston Villa match with Mum and Dad in 2019. Pandemic set pieces have shown the family clapping for the NHS on the steps of Anmer Hall, their Norfolk home, and, before Christmas, their first red-carpet appearance together for an evening at the panto with key workers and their children.

As they celebrate their anniversary on April 29, friends who joined the Cambridges on their wedding day tell me the partnership’s equal footing is key to its success. “They’ve got a solid relationship and she gives him confidence,” one says. “There is no jealousy, no friction, they are happy for each other’s successes.” In private William talks as passionately about Kate’s work as his own campaigns, and takes pride in her growing confidence on the public stage.

William has said his grandmother’s approach to being head of state is to take “more of a passive role. She’s above politics and is very much away from it.” He doesn’t plan to meddle in party politics, but he was not happy about the unenviable position the government put the Queen in with the 2019 proroguing of parliament, which was later ruled to be unlawful and forced an apology from Boris Johnson to the monarch. Constitutionally the Queen had no alternative other than to act on the advice of her government, but in William’s reign there will be “more private, robust challenging of advice”. His last three private secretaries — Christian Jones, Simon Case, now the cabinet secretary, and Head — had all worked in government departments, helping William to keep his finger on the political pulse. The new incumbent, the Whitehall heavyweight Jean-Christophe Gray, who served as David Cameron’s spokesman, continues in that vein.

The former Conservative leader Lord Hague of Richmond was last year appointed as chairman of the Royal Foundation to develop William’s work on mental health, the environment and a raft of new support programmes for key workers. “People internationally and nationally respect his credibility and knowledge on these issues,” Hague says. “He’s very persuasive. You only see that behind the scenes. He knows what he wants and he goes out to get it.”

Charlie Mayhew, chief executive of the conservation charity Tusk, has known William since he was 20. In 2005 Tusk and Centrepoint, the homelessness charity championed by Princess Diana, were the first patronages William took on. “In those early years I kept having to pinch myself to remember how young he was,” Mayhew says. “He was much more mature than his age and very aware of his destiny coming down the track. He had a sincerity, but never without wicked humour. His teasing is merciless.”

William knows some people see his passion for conservation as a posh man’s part-time hobby, but Mayhew says the duke’s “genuine and huge knowledge” undermines that view. “He’ll call and WhatsApp to flag up something that I haven’t even seen in the conservation space. He can be impatient to get things done.” Last year William launched the Earthshot prize, a £50 million Nobel-style environmental award to galvanise solutions to global problems over the next decade. He believes “conservation and the environment … shouldn’t be a luxury, it’s a necessity”, Mayhew says. “That’s the drum he wants to beat. He’s got a megaphone and wants to use it in the most constructive way. He speaks for that next generation and I think they can relate to it.”

A turning point for William was his 2015 official visit to China, one of the world’s largest consumers of ivory, where he met President Xi and condemned the illegal wildlife trade as a “vicious form of criminality”. Unlike his father, who has refused to visit the People’s Republic over its human rights record and treatment of Tibet, William’s view was that despite the UK’s fractious relationship with China, “we’ve got to engage”.

“It was very political, raising the illegal wildlife trade in China. I’m sure the diplomats were having all sort of nightmares in advance,” says Mayhew, who joined the duke in China. “But he was gathering greater confidence that he had the ability to be a mouthpiece for the issue.” Mayhew reveals that while William was visiting Japan before China, he still hadn’t secured a meeting with Xi. “But when the Chinese saw all the high-level meetings he was having in Japan, they changed their minds and Xi made time for him.” Later that year, as Xi began a UK state visit, William appeared on Chinese television condemning the ivory trade. Two years later China banned the trade.

In 2018 he spent months prepping for his most high-stakes overseas visit yet, to Israel and the occupied Palestinian territories that summer. Navigating the diplomatic tightrope walk between Jerusalem and the West Bank, he visited a Palestinian refugee camp in Ramallah. As he travelled back to Jerusalem, he changed his speech for a reception with young Israelis and Palestinians to strengthen his solidarity with the latter: “My message tonight is that you have not been forgotten … The United Kingdom stands with you.” It was a bold move, but both sides hailed his visit a success and the officials breathed a sigh of relief. To the delight of the travelling press pack, William’s engagements on the final day were brought forward, allowing the diplomat duke and president of the Football Association to land back in the UK in time to watch England’s World Cup tie.

Ask him if he���s a peacemaker and William will laugh, saying Kate is the mediator. But according to a source close to William and Harry, his bridge-building skills were deployed in the lead-up to Harry and Meghan’s wedding in 2018, when tensions in the Kensington Palace household, then still shared by the brothers, were running high: “Every time there was a drama, or a member of staff on the verge of quitting, William would personally try and sort it out.”

As the brothers clashed more over the substance and style of their work, and the family hierarchy that William is a stickler for but Harry is less keen on, a split was inevitable. When they finally divided their households in March 2019, it had been a long time coming. But he never thought that a year later his brother would up sticks for America.

The pair went for a long walk to clear the air after the “Sandringham summit” when the Megxit deal was hammered out, but did not part shores as friends. What upset William the most was Harry and Meghan’s surprise launch of their “Sussex Royal” website before the summit, which featured their blueprint wish list of a part-time, commercial royal future. Later, when the Queen decreed they could no longer use “royal” in their future ventures, their website hit back with this bold statement: “While there is not any jurisdiction by The Monarchy … over the use of the word ‘Royal’ overseas, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex do not intend to use ‘Sussex Royal’ … or … ‘Royal’ …” Both “the content and that it’s still online is staggering”, a senior royal source says. “That was it for William, he felt they’d blindsided the Queen in such an insulting and disrespectful way,” says a source close to him, who reveals it was still at the forefront of William’s mind at the Commonwealth Day service one year ago. It was the Sussexes’ final engagement as working royals, and the froideur between them and the rest of the family was unmistakable.

It is a year since the Sussexes left for California and William misses Harry. “Once he got over the anger of how things happened, he was left with the absence of his brother,” an aide says. “They shared everything about their lives, an office, a foundation, meetings together most days and there was a lot of fun along the way. He’ll miss it for ever.” A close friend says William “definitely feels the pressure now it’s all on him — his future looks different because of his brother’s choices, it’s not easy.” Another friend says: “It’s still raw. He’s very upset by what’s happened, though absolutely intent that he and Harry’s relationship will heal in time.”

After lobbing bombs in his Oprah interview, Harry said: “I love William to bits … We’ve been through hell together … we have a shared experience … The relationship is space at the moment, and time heals all things, hopefully.” Harry would be wise not to set his stopwatch.

The first test will come this summer, when the brothers could be reunited for a series of family engagements including the Duke of Edinburgh’s 100th birthday and the Queen’s birthday parade in June. In July they are scheduled to unveil a statue of their mother at Kensington Palace, marking what would have been Diana’s 60th birthday, an emotionally charged occasion with the world watching.

While a chasm has opened up between the brothers, William has grown closer to the Queen and Prince Charles. He has helped them to navigate their way through Megxit, Prince Andrew’s removal from public life following the Jeffrey Epstein scandal and, now, the Oprah controversy. “That has changed the way the Queen sees him and values his input,” a courtier says. William also feels his relationship with his grandmother has “massively improved” in recent years and their views are “more aligned than ever”.

Friends say there has also been a “renaissance” in William and Charles’s relationship. “As the years passed there were strains imposed by the system — money, work, competition, Diana,” one says. “Part of William’s evolution is that as he has become closer to his father, he sees their similarities. At William’s wedding there was a gag in one of the speeches that he was more like his father than he’d ever admit, which made a lot of us laugh. As their respective destinies get closer, it weighs more heavily on them and strengthens the bond. The rift with Harry has also brought them closer.”

William is said to hate “flummery”, though the role of future king comes with plenty of bowing and scraping. But in 2017, for the first time publicly, he didn’t get his way. As a new parent worried about rising teenage suicide rates, he had spent a year convening a Cyberbullying Taskforce with big cheeses from tech and social media giants including Facebook, Snapchat, Apple, Google and Twitter. He wanted them to adopt industry-wide guidelines creating safer online spaces for children. According to William the meetings at Kensington Palace got “fruity” and the tech giants didn’t come close to the change he wanted. He was furious.

Tessy Ojo, chief executive of the Diana Award youth charity, sat on the taskforce. “He was deeply disappointed,” she says. “He didn’t come into it as ‘the duke’, he gave emotional pleas as a father.” William has since publicly condemned social media giants for their “false choice of profits over values” and privately offered support to the family of Molly Russell, who took her life at 14 after viewing images of self-harm online. Ojo believes it is William’s “lived experience of the fragility of life that guides the work he does”.

It also shapes the way he and Kate are raising their family. William has said he is determined that the grandchildren Diana never knew should “know who she was and that she existed”. He “constantly” talks to his children “about Granny Diana” at bedtime, so that they know “there are two grandmothers in their lives”. Earlier this month on Mother’s Day, Kensington Palace’s social media feeds published George, Charlotte and Louis’s cards paying tribute to “Granny Diana”, revealing it is an annual ritual for the Cambridge children. After a difficult few weeks for William, a line in Charlotte’s card provided poignant insight into how he is feeling: “Papa is missing you.”

He is on course to be a more modern monarch than any before him, but William is still a creature of habit at heart. He has the same tight circle of friends from his schooldays, one of whom says that, with William, “it’s all about trust and loyalty”. He plays five-a-side football in his Villa socks when he can, goes to the Chelsea Harbour Club gym he went to as a child with his mother and has a “smart casual” public uniform of chinos, jacket, blue shirt and no tie.

“William’s not trying to be down with the kids,” a friend says. “He never wants to be painted as irrelevant or dull, though he’s allergic to being compared to celebrities. The public doesn’t always get to see his funny side, but otherwise he’s the same in private as in public. He once said, ‘I’ll be in the public eye all my life. I can’t hide who I am because I’ll be found out.’ ”

In 2019, during a visit to a youth homelessness charity supporting LGBT people, William was asked how he would feel if one of his children was gay. “Absolutely fine,” he replied. “I fully support whatever decision they make, but it does worry me from a parent’s point of view how many barriers, hateful words, persecution and discrimination might come.” Such a personal exchange was a radical departure from royal engagement small talk. But William, the first in his family to be photographed for the cover of a gay magazine, had personally put the issue on the agenda.

As president of Bafta he gave the academy a diplomatic dressing down in his speech at last year’s ceremony, expressing his “frustration” over the lack of diversity: “In 2020, and not for the first time in the last few years, we find ourselves talking again about the need to do more to ensure diversity in the sector and in the awards process — that simply cannot be right in this day and age.” The 2021 nominees announced this month suggest his words hit home.

William “thinks the public look to him to keep royal work looking modern”, a confidante says. “The Queen and Prince of Wales are providing continuity and stability. He’s carving out his own relationship with diverse communities. He sees it all as a way of doing things now that will help a smooth transition when the time comes.”

Since the start of the coronavirus pandemic, as a former frontline worker himself, William has led the royal charge supporting key workers. “Now, more than ever, he knows what his role in public life is, and he sees the value in it,” a close aide says. Chatting to NHS workers in January, William said: “Something that I noticed from my brief spell flying the air ambulance … is that when you see so much death and so much bereavement, it does impact how you see the world … as a … darker, blacker place.” Soon after the first lockdown was announced, the Cambridges’ Royal Foundation launched Our Frontline, a round-the-clock mental health and bereavement service for key workers.

Miguel Head says the future King William will continue to campaign on his big issues: “I can’t see him backing away from causes he’s passionate about. And while he’s not someone who loves ceremony, he knows the importance of it. When he gets the top job he won’t do away with it all. He’s mindful the monarchy represents something timeless that’s above all of us, and many people like the magic and theatre of it.”

Roya Nikkhah

Roya is royal correspondent at The Sunday Times. Over more than a decade she has covered royal events for the BBC, interviewed the Prince of Wales and Prince Harry and presented the films Prince William, Monarch in the Making and Meghan and Harry: The Baby Years.

[mizgnomer]

Behind the Scenes of Partners in Crime - Part 5

From a Radio Times interview with David Tennant and Catherine Tate (5-11 April 2008)

Radio Times: How does he [the Doctor] take to seeing her again? Donna was a bit of a handful last time around.

David Tennant: He’s pretty gobsmacked. But I think he feels that maybe he didn’t treat Martha as fairly as he might have done, so at first he’s slightly reluctant to involve anyone else in his life. But Donna’s quite a force of nature, so she doesn’t really take no for an answer.

Radio Times: How do they get on together?

Catherine Tate: It’s different from the previous companions, because she doesn’t have the same romantic attachment [as Rose and Martha] to the Doctor.

David Tennant: You’ll recognize the relationship from The Runaway Bride, but it’s less abrasive, because Donna wants to be a part of TARDIS life.

Catherine Tate: In fact during The Runaway Bride all she wanted to do was get away from him; then, as it turns out, all she wants to do is be with him.

Link to [ part one ] of the Partners in Crime Behind-the-scenes posts, or click the whoBtsPartners tag, or the full episode list [ here ]

[bornetoblood]

@littlealeta making a new post for this just cus I feel a little bad tagging onto this post ad infinum I hope you don’t mind :)

A lot of the things I have to say on this are pretty complicated (and I’m a little stupid) so sorry if this is like... uninteligable (also dw you’re not being mean! This is a pretty light hearted discussion about a video game I’m really not taking it to heart). I hope you don’t mind me doing the same right back at ya.

I don't really mind Vincent not saying he has a girlfriend since he's confused as to what he wants in his life, plus Rin and Catherine both threw themselves at him not Vincent. I think the game often gets viewed wrongly, a lot of people seem to think that if you have a partner, you should settle down with them and not think about breaking up with them. The game is trying to tell you that while it's not okay to cheat and betray your partner, it is okay to not have serious relationships.

My problem with Vince not telling Catherine he has a girlfriend doesn’t stem from the fact I expect him to settle down or think that’s best for him (the true freedom ending is my favourite for a reason) I have a problem with the fact it is a very serious betrayal of Katherine’s trust. While there are extenuating circumstances (the like... demon shit) Vince’s reluctance to come clean to both the girls purely stems from him not wanting to face consequences, which is selfish. Again I don’t think this is bad from a character standpoint, I find it very compelling, but it is immoral.

The problem is moreso how both Catherine and Katherine are written. They're both selfish and overly controlling to your character in different ways that it's just hard to fathom why Vincent would want to be with either of them. I wish Katherine was written to be less selfish, like why would you want to marry and have children with a man who drinks, smokes, lives in a messy apartment, and spends money impulsively? And Catherine had such rapey and yandere vibes from the start, which doesn't make sense because again, the game is focused on cheating and the idea of whether you want to live a free or traditional life. So why make both women so mean-spirited to the protagonist, one of them even raping and sexually assaulting him? And Vincent isn't even concerned about it? At least make Catherine's evilness more subtle and maybe not really come up until later in the game as Vincent starts pushing her away more and have Vincent not remember what happened between him and Catherine at the bar at all.

I agree and I think Full Body remedied the points with Katherine specifically to an extent. The scenes we are shown of Kath and Vince at the begining of their relationship genuinely makes me wanna see if they can make it work like that again! I think Kath wants to marry Vince cus they’ve been together for 5 years and they’ve both drifted apart over the years and don’t want to acknowledge that. The K endings read to me as the rekindling of their dynamic that had been dampened over time if that makes any sense. The deal with C is that I think her malice is already a slow burn (the SA point I fully agree on btw even if it is kinda ambiguous if they ever actually had sex when she says they did ((cus of the whole demon thing)). I think theres a relitive suspension of disbelief with C because she is supernatural. I think C nad K are both pretty compelling and both can be good for the Vince that ends up with them (the Vince that wishes to settle down and rekindle his romance and the Vince who wants to be king of hell). 

But isn't that what all the characters in the game do? Is challenge women and each other? If they weren't, wouldn't we have Vincent agreeing to settle down with Katherine from the start? Sure Vincent has a problem with speaking up, but it doesn't mean he doesn't wish to rebel against the pressure women place on him. Personally, I can see Vincent's point here. He's often pressured by women to live a traditional, old-fashioned life of finding one partner and settling down with them. Vincent doesn't care about serious relationships, he just wants to take his time hooking up with women until he finds the one he truly loves. Like I said, cheating is never okay. But we've never seen Vincent make a move on Catherine.

Vincent may be jumping to conclusions about women here, but that's all he's ever known, since both Erica and Katherine and even most Catherine players are pressuring him to settle down and to stay with the one he's been with for a long time, even if she may not be right for him.

Vince being a guy who wants to sleep around and not settle down is the same Vince who wants to settle down with his family, or be with no one at all, we get to pick which Vince he becomes and the game is about Vince self discovering into the ending we pick for him. He is all and non of these things. Vince, and the other men in Catherine, experiencing pressure from women does not excuse thier treatment of them and I do not blame the women for this, it’s society as a whole that places this importance on marriage and women are more so affected by that expectation (that was created by men might I add). Marriage may be right for Vincent Brookes and it might not be. There is no right way to climb the tower.

Like Katherine, Erica can be well-intentioned at times, but just some of the things these two say just sound very morally biased, especially regarding relationships, mostly about the importance of being tied down. It's why I cannot stand any of the women in the game. They all just seem so shallow and narrow-minded. Maybe it's because I'm not someone who is focused on going after the idea of marriage, but I don't see how it's a problematic thing to not want to settle down, get married, and have a family, especially in the 21st century. Maybe that kind of thing is different in Japan, but here in the western world, where Catherine is set, those things aren't important anymore.

I’m also adverse to marriage for myself, the talk in Catherine about the importance of marriage all sounds the same to me. But it is the same coming from every character in the game, which is why I don’t hold it against Katherine or Erica and still fully enjoy them (Erica specifcially being one of my favourites I love that she takes 0 shit from anyone). Also sorry if this is pedantic but Catherine is set on Mars in an amalgum of the US and Japan (like Ace Attorney ((not the Mars part)). It being a made up setting allows it to make its own culture, which happens to be one where society deems marriage very important. I wish the characters ‘happy endings’ didn’t tend to end in marriage too but that seems more like a general thing with how Atlus decided to write the game than a specific character issue if that makes sense.

Again, I do agree that Vincent isn't written as well as he could have been but with what they had, I think they did a decent job, especially compared to characters like Shinji, Jerry Smith, and Arlo the Dinosaur who are just shallow and/or inconsistent characters. I just find everyone else shallow for the reasons I mentioned in the other post and I just can't find myself connecting to their characters. Orlando even goes back and forth between saying his ex betrayed him and he betrayed his ex. Like, am I supposed to even sympathize with this character? Is he a victim or not? I don't even know what exactly happened between him and his ex.

I ADORE these character inconsistancies. With Orlando specifically it’s implied his use of their finacies in the scam was a betrayal of sorts (like he lost their life savings by getting tricked) and his wife leaving him cus of this was also a betrayal. I love it because there is no good or bad guy here, it’s humans in a human scenario where they both made mistakes and I find that deeply compelling. Orlando’s struggle with blaming his wife and then himself for the totality of the situation is soooo fuckin cool I feel like I’ve known people like Orlando.

Like with Archie and some of the other sheep, trauma is not always an excuse to be an asshole. I went through some trauma, Vincent has gone through way more trauma, and we still care about others and want to do the right thing. We're not perfect, but at least we're willing to help others which Vincent's friends rarely do, at least they're not as empathetic with him.

I despise Archie and I would dance on his grave, but what I do love about this side quest is that it shows off how compassionate and loving Vincent is. He forgives and loves unconditionally no matter how awful a human being is and is always there to help them. When they die, he becomes quite shaken.

Here I think we are simply after different things in these characters. Archie’s trauma does not excuse his actions and never will but they do contextualise them and make him sympathetic. I can empathise with how he has come to the conclusions he has due to his past even if those conclusions are harmful and wrong. This is what I love in characters, messiness and humaness. This goes for all of the patrons for me btw. I agree that Vince’s interactions with the sheep bring the best out of him (tbh I think they showcase his more confident and heroic side in a much more natural way than Rin does lmao). Vincent finds comradre with a group of other traumatised, also misogonistic men. They learn together. Get better together. They open up to each other in a way society has barred from them outside of this life and death scenario and they are better people for it. They remedy their biases and they have each other now ( have i mentioned the bar patrons are my favourite part? cus they’re my favourite part).

I don't see the problem with the game showing another side to Vincent. I think it was Atlus's attempt at showing Vincent's more likeable side (which I think they did a good job with compared to the original) but it also tracks because we've seen Vincent being mentally stable and compassionate like this toward the other sheep. Rin is the only character who's consistently nice to Vincent, so it makes sense that Vincent would be at his best with him. Rin is perfect because he's an angel. And he does have flaws, he refuses to forgive Vincent after he apologizes for pushing him away. That was a cowardly and cold move considering how close they were. I think I just like that Rin is the only character who actually shows empathy and support for our main protagonist when everyone else hardly did.

My problem isn’t with Vincent showing another side, it’s that I think this shift is sudden and jarring. Vincent acts sooo differently in the Rin cutscenes (even when he’s with his friends he was stammering next to like 5 seconds earlier). Like I said I thnk this is done better in regards to his slow gain in confidence with the sheep. Rin is the only character who is pretty much always nice to Vince and, yes, it is because they are an (at least allegorical) angel but I do find this... boring and not very compelling. Flawless characters send me to sleep sorry I just can’t personally see the appeal in someone who has no room to grow. I feel like an angel character can have compelling flaws but they just didn’t do this with Rin and thus their scenes do not grab me the way the rest of the cast’s do. I am aware this is my personal preference but I do like my characters with a little more going on. Rin refusing to forgive Vince for having the literally textbook transphobic response to seeing them naked is not a flaw, in fact I think they reacted too mildly. While Rin is not explicitly trans I hope you understand I’ve seen the whole: Character is she/her’d, character is revealed to have a penis (shocking!!! violent and/or disgusted reaction expected!!), character is he/him’d like a billion times and I am a little sick of it actually.

I suppose my point here is that Catherine is about the relationships between damaged people. Navigating those relationships through the hardships is what I find compelling about the game and Rin distictly lacks that dimension. Vincent works for and cultivates his healthy support system by the end of the game. He gets closer to his friends, to other men, to himself- regarless on whether he chooses to persue romance. Rin throws a pretty hefty spanner in this for me in a way that could of been interesting but feels underbaked. I get why people like these additions but it runs in direct contrast to all the things I find interesting about the game soo uhh yeh.

[electricprincess96]

I think I lost some brain cells after going through the tags of an art I've seen. It's the biggest mistake of my life.

How can anyone honestly and confidently claim that the Church of Seiros is misogynistic in the story?! This fictional church worships a goddess (aka WOMAN version of god) and encourages people to worship the goddess. Its greatest authority, the Archbishop, is a woman (Rhea IS a woman, right?). There are FEMALE warriors in the ranks of Knight of Seiros (and displayed as the most competent and professional too!)

The Church of Seiros is strongly implied to be a MATRIARCHAL institution which means IT'S THE WOMEN WHO ARE IN POWER.

Did the definition of misogyny changed without me knowing? JUST HOW?!

These are people who genuinely either didn't play the whole game or CHOSE to ignore everything about the game and instead are projecting their own hang ups and issues with real life religion.

Sothis is the main deity of The Church of Seiros, Rhea is the leader, Catherine is widely regarded as the strongest Knight of Seiros, the Knights include Catherine and Shamir. We see other female NPC Knights all around the Monastery etc.

These will be the same people who call the Church of Seiros homophobic when both Sothis the literally Goddess and Rhea the founder and leader of the Church are bisexuals and Catherine and Shamir joke about marriage in their supports and Catherine doesn't get annoyed because "gasp that's forbidden" she gets kinda irrigated cause she can't decide between actually taking Shamir seriously or continuing her lady love for Rhea. Mercedes another deeply religious character is also bi and I've explained previously how I think Yuri is also a relatively religious character, maybe not in the same way Mercedes or Marianne are but he's not agnostic or atheist that's for sure and again he's bi.

Does the Church have issues? Sure. Part of that is the fact Rhea is perhaps too passive, too reluctant to ruffle some feathers and arguably too tolerant towards the descendants of the Elites BUT ironically she gets accused of both being too passive and being a tyrant so ultimately these people don't actually care what's written in the game they just hate religion irl and want their waifu to be justified in all the horrible shit she does.

And yes the Church of Seiros is very much a Matriarchal Organisation I'd say, like even if you play as Maleth in Moon for example you still have a Goddess in your head so you get a pass.

[philliamwrites]

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.6]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 5.1k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

Chapter 06: From The Beyond

Ah! It is well for the unfortunate to be resigned, but for the guilty there is no peace.

[Mary B. Shelley, Frankenstein]

    Thinking back on it later, the events during Garland Moon were probably what set the hare running toward its demise. Not that any of you could have known that. Not the students who joyfully spend their days in cherished halls where daylight passes through coloured glass; not Byleth with her gift to correct past mistakes with a flick of her wrist and change the course of time; not you with your foresight to see what dangers await in the future and prepare a different path for those you care for to walk safely.

    Thinking back on it later, everything that followed surely ascribed to and served Fate, and not even Sylvain could charm her with his silver tongue and golden wit, for Fate’s lover is Time and she does not look kindly upon those who enslave him.

    Maybe that is why things turned out the way they did for Byleth and you.

    But that future is still far away and every single one of you still believes the goddess has Fate tightly leashed to her side, her benevolence endless and spreading to every corner in Fódlan.

    That is why you don’t think too much about it when one day, Seteth disturbs your seminar, a deep frown settled in his features as you explain how to turn an ambush to your advantage to the students.

    “Apologies for the disturbance, Herald. Lady Rhea asks to see Ashe.”

    The boy gives a pitiful squeal but is up on his feet nonetheless. “Me? Why?”

    “You will see. Please come.” Seteth holds the classroom’s door open.

    You nod, a little worried about the frightened glance Ashe sends your way like he hopes you can actually say no and decline Rhea’s command. An encouraging smile is everything you can give him on his way before the door shuts behind him. Its sound wakes everyone else from their slumber and it takes a few minutes to reclaim order and their attention. It certainly does help that the Blue Lion House isn’t as chaotic as a certain other, not to name any names.

    Said house proves again to be more difficult to teach. Or tame. You didn’t have the courage to ask why they thought it was a good idea to see whose shoe would leave the darkest stain on Claude’s bedroom’s ceiling. Even days after their mischief students kept talking about how they have never seen Seteth this furious.

    “Herald, please,” Hilda cries, tragically draped over the back of her chair, a maiden in bittersweet agony over her loss of free time. “It was all Claude’s fault.”

    “Liars never prosper,” Claude calls from the far back of the room. He’s hunched over his papers, working vigorously on Seteth’s punishment. He ordered them to write hundred times I shall not throw footwear against any ceiling in the monastery. They’ve been at it for about twenty minutes and Claude’s quill hasn’t stopped its furious scratching against parchment at all.

    “I won’t mess with Seteth,” you tell them and lean dangerously far back on your chair to place your feet on the teacher’s desk. “And you deserve it. Or do they not teach you proper manners in your noble homes?”

    “Well, it’s not like anyone taught us not to do it,” Hilda chirps. You throw a glare her way and she quickly dugs her head and continues writing. Quills scratch on paper for about seven seconds before Hilda stops again.

    “Herald,” she says. “What do you think about Lady Catherine’s Thunderbrand?”

    You look up from your book titled Noticeable War Generals. Smile gone from her face, Hilda looks up at you with sharp curiosity. It’s eerily silent now, and a quick glance towards Claude shows he is listening as well.

    Catherine’s Thunderbrand. Its sight is still burned into the back of your closed eyes: Golden ivory forged into a grotesque sword, a blood red Crest Stone in its middle that seemed to pulsate—as if it breathed. As if it was a living thing with a heart. You had simply stared at it in awe and thought What a mesmerising weapon.

    “It’s … fascinating,” you manage. “A Hero’s Relic. There are more than just Thunderbrand, right?”

    “Ten exist,” Claude calls from the back. “Bestowed by the goddess upon ten heroes, they are passed down to their descendants. House Riegan and House Goneril have one in their possession as well.”

    “Then why don’t you use it?” You certainly wouldn’t miss a chance to own and wield a mighty weapon like that.

    “Wield that?”Hilda shudders in disgust. “No thank you. It looks so weird, pulsating and moving like an insect.”

    “And we’re way too inexperienced to use it in a real battle.” Claude puts his quill between his nose and upper lip and tries to hold it there. “They’re locked away anyway and hidden from those who might misuse their power.”

    Claude has a point. Nonetheless, you’d gladly take a look at them. Maybe even hold one … Did the Herald own one as well? A special weapon only forged for the Herald. A slight shudder runs down your spine at the thought of using it in battle.

    Ten minutes later, Claude jumps to his feet. He hurries towards you, slams his parchments on the table and leaves just as fast. “Bye Herald!”

    “No way!” Hilda pales. “How is he so fast?”

    You wonder as well and take a look at his papers. Instead of writing what Seteth has told them, Claude simply left poor drawings of their crime and promised with one sentence he wouldn’t do it again.

    And we of House Riegan never break our promises, reads the last line.

    You groan. Now it’s your turn to think about a good explanation to Seteth’s questions why you haven’t paid more attention.

    Month three passed within the blink of an eye. Garland Moon brought the sweet smell of white roses to Garreg Mach, a tradition much anticipated by the students. Everywhere you went, garlands and gifts made of white roses were given to each other as a sign of friendship or budding love. Some found their way to your desk, though your admirers preferred to stay anonymous whereas Byleth was busy to stow them somewhere—not a day passed without her receiving something or a group of giggling students following her around.

    “I really don’t know what to do with all those flowers,” she told you one day during a tea session, a deep frown on her face. “They wilt. Then I throw them away. It’s a waste.”

    “Your students love it,” you replied but were glad not to be in her place.

    Another good deed Garland Moon brought with it is longer days and shorter nights. Students lounged outside in their summer uniforms after class, enjoying those last warm days before raining season arrived with fierce gusts and heavy pouring, forcing them back inside where they spent their free time inside the library or the dining hall, playing little games to kill time.

    For a change of pace, Byleth and Jeralt decided they’d hold a grilled fish dinner on every last day of each week and most of the invited either didn’t have the heart or the courage to tell them once every week was once every week too much.

    Everything happened too fast after that. Rhea informed the teacher’s faculty and her Knights of Lord Lonato Gaspard’s planned rebellion against the church. With that, the mystery of why Seteth had demanded to speak with Ashe was solved; it also explained why he spent so much time inside the chapel, praying and wondering himself about his adoptive father’s reasoning.

    “There is no question about it,” Rhea says in her cool, demanding voice once every teacher and Knight of Seiros gathered inside the War Room to discuss the matter. “We will send a troop to meet them halfway in Kingdom Territory. They will pay for mocking our goddess.”

    “Allow me to lead the Knights, Lady Rhea,” Catherine says. Even now, you can’t take your eyes off Thunderbrand strapped on her back. “I know Gaspard and what he’s capable of.”

    “We did not forget what you’ve done back when—” Seteth starts. Catherine silences him with one look, leaving no doubt she doesn’t wish to speak of it.

    “And that is exactly why I have to go.”

    Rhea nodded. “So be it. I know I leave this mission in your capable hands.”

    “But why is he leading this rebellion?” you wonder. “I thought the Kingdom is strongly devoted to Seiros’ teachings.”

    “Every flock has its black sheep,” Rhea says, sounding sad. “We will get our answers once we defeat and capture them.”

    “What about the surrounding villages and those who support Gaspard’s rebellion but don’t fight?” Byleth asked. Until now, you haven’t really thought of those not directly involved in it, but she does make a good point.

    Rhea squared her shoulders. “What about them?”

    “They’re not directly involved but might try to get in our way.” Byleth glanced at the strategic map laid out before her. There is a way through the forest for your units to approach Lonato’s stronghold. Surrounding villages are marked with a red pin. They surround the forest in a loose circle, making an intrusion possible, though sending Knights of Seiros out to watch them and stop them could be quite easy—

    “Everyone who supports this foolish rebellion should receive the rightful punishment,” Rhea says, her voice so cold it freezes your thoughts of how to make the villagers stay out of this. Your head snaps up as you stare at her. Byleth raises an eyebrow but remains silent just like everyone else. Something about that makes you shudder.

    “But they’re civilians, right? If we can avoid having them interfere—”

    “By joining Lonato Gaspard’s rebellion they pledge guilty to his cause.” Rhea looks up at you, scorn flashing briefly in her eyes. “I will not have them simply go if it opens the possibility for revenge one day.”

    If you squinted really hard, there was reason behind her words. Still, your stomach turned at the thought of endangering civilians even though it could be prevented. Without any protests, that was the plan for the operation.

    You sat this one out. There was much to prepare for the upcoming Rite of Rebirth, a ceremony when the Church of Seiros and its believers unite to pray for the return of the goddess. Even though you wouldn’t call yourself a believer—many find it strange that you remember the way of war but not the way of the Church as if you lived somewhere without Seiros’ teachings—your presence was of outmost importance as well. Though after you heard how the mission went, you really wished you had joined the Blue Lions fighting against Gaspard instead of sitting around and deciding which ceremonial robes fit better.

    Loud voices drift through the closed door of a classroom, voices you immediately recognise belonging to Dimitri and Byleth.

    “Are you insane?” You flinch back even though a heavy wooden door separates you from what is undoubtedly Dimitri’s wrath. “Those were civilians.”

    A reply is lost, too quiet for you to hear, but whatever Byleth said, it wasn’t the right thing. A second later, Dimitri storms through the doors. The distress in his features stops you from asking what is wrong, a flash of betrayal lurking in his eyes seals your mouth shut. You look after him until he disappears around the corner, only slowly turning towards Byleth. She is propping herself up on the table, learning on her strong arms and staring at the opposite wall, her mouth a grim line—solid rock that stands against the raging waves summoned by Dimitri, her grip on the edge of the table hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

    “Everything okay?” An unnecessary question answered by a simple shake of her head. You lean your hips against the table. “Do you want to talk about it?”

    Byleth is silent. Only slowly, like a tight knot finally coming lose, the tension in her shoulders dissipates and she takes a long, deep breath.

    “Dimitri told me about their mission. How they dealt with Lord Lonato’s revolt.” She finally steps away from the table and kneads the muscles in her shoulders. You imagine they’re hard like a rock. “They faced simple peasants who defended their Lord. Peasants who didn’t even know how to wield a sword without cutting their own thumbs off.”

    “And Rhea made quite clear how to deal with them,” you finish, summoning unwanted imaginations about a gruesome butchery in your mind. Byleth nods.

    “Dimitri asked for my advice,” she continues, her gaze drifting towards the door as if said young man might return like a bad haunting if his name is simply muttered. “If there was anything they could have done different. I told him there wasn’t.” She tears her eyes away from the door and fixes them on you. “I told him that is the way of war.”

    She is right, a part of you insists. Such facts cannot be changed and claiming anything different is foolish, naive. Yet, something stirs, a tiny tiny voice, a feeling, that challenges that thought. A feeling you didn’t expect to be part of you.

    “I don’t know about the details,” you say, shuffling from left to right, “but maybe it was avoidable. Lord Lonato must have known how his subjects felt about it. He didn’t need to involve them.”

    “I think they joined on their own. The students gave them a chance to lay down their weapons.”

    “Still—”

    “Still they decided to follow their foolish Lord,” a voice from the door joins, cold and imperious, chilling you to the bone. Rhea enters the War Room, her expression void of any warmth or kindness. “There is no place for doubt. We must punish any sinner who may inflict harm upon believers, even if those sinners are civilians.”

    “And you think to have the students punish them is right?” Byleth asks, earning a sharp glare from Rhea. She quickly, but somewhat begrudgingly adds, “Your Grace.”

    “I have heard that some students struggled with completing the task,” Rhea acknowledges, doing her best to show how unaffected she is by Byleth’s criticism. “I pray they learnt a valuable lesson about the fate that awaits all who are foolish enough to point their blades towards the heavens.”

    An icy shudder crawls up your spine, cold fingers tighten around your throat to keep you silent—a leash forged of obedience and intimidation, the mistress standing before you. It would be wise to keep your mouth shut, not draw unnecessary attention; keep your head low and nothing can slice it from your shoulders. But the words, burning hot on your tongue, demand freedom.

    “Fearing the Church isn’t the same as respecting it.”

    Something sharp flashes in Rhea’s eyes. “If fear is the only way to control them, then so be it. They are traitors to the holy teachings.”

    “They are people. People with families.”

    “People who would be wise to remember it was the progenitor god who gave them these lands and their life,” Rhea answers, growing impatient. She notices something in the way you look at her, for she takes a moment to collect herself by taking a deep breath. “I do not enjoy seeing those who wronged our holy teachings punished, Herald,” she continues, now much calmer. “But punish them we must before they hurt those who are dear to us.” Upon her last words, her eyes dart to Byleth, looking at her with so much fondness and care, a sting of jealousy in your chest forces you to avert your gaze to the ground. It isn’t the first time you notice Rhea’s palpable interest in Byleth’s wellbeing though no answer comes to mind why it is like that. If Byleth noticed the same, she doesn’t show it.

    After that, the incident is quickly forgotten, making room for the new incident occupying everyone’s mind: an assassination plot on Rhea on the day of the Rite of Rebirth found in Lonato’s possession. You aren’t the only one wondering why he’d carry something like that around where it’s easy to find. Multiple theories go around, one more farfetched than the other. One particular makes sense, its source none other than sharp witted Claude who thinks this plot is a simple distraction for something much bigger.

    “If security is focused on the Rite of Rebirth inside the Goddess’ Tower, pretty much anyone can simply stroll around the monastery and do who knows what,” he told you on the day Byleth and her class set out to discover what important places might become a target. Garreg Mach hides many secrets and treasures. Some of them even you are not allowed to see like relics passed down from archbishop to archbishop, guarded by the elite of the Knights of Seiros, tall and bulky men and women with grim mouths and determined eyes rooting them in place day and night in front of locked doors only Rhea knows what they hide.

    With every passing day, tension hangs in the air like a thick blanket waiting to smother you all. But it isn’t simply the anticipation for whatever the Western Church has planned. It is also the holy ceremony of the Rite of Rebirth, one you’ve practised under the stern eyes of Seteth who doesn’t settle for anything less than perfect. Every word, every step is engraved in your mind.

    On the day of the Rite of Rebirth the sun relentlessly blazes down at the monastery. Your ceremonial robes are heavy and woven from thick jacquard fabric lined with fine golden patterns that depict the Herald’s Crest on the back. You’ve barely finished preparing everything inside the round chamber inside the Goddess’ Tower but perspiration glues your hair to your forehead.

    A whole feast is prepared; food offerings and gifts from the townsfolk and priests served on golden and silver plates on long tables covered with white table clothes. In the middle Seteth prepared a small platform for Rhea to stand and speak in honour of the goddess that she may return to Fódlan and show its people her infinite grace. In short, you’d do anything to join the students who are securing the locations lacking in defence right now instead of standing around and waving at pilgrims. The only joy lies in Flayn’s bright presence and her never ending optimism. She’s a sweet girl and has been looking forward to the ceremony since the beginning of Blue Sea Moon. Looking upon her, it is hard not to catch her excitement and joy when the ceremony finally begins.

    Because of certain circumstances you couldn’t quite follow, the holy relic used for the ceremony, the Chalice of Beginnings, has been missing for a long time. Because of that, a mock chalice was prepared by the cardinals, a handful of high authority men and women who make it no secret they can’t quite decide if they like or dislike you and your position.

    “You must excuse them,” one of the cardinals says after a group of them simply shook their heads at you happily scooping tons of food on a plate. His dark hair falls to his shoulders and unlike the other cardinals, his brown eyes are filled with kindness. “They simply think in old patterns and value their old traditions. You are quite young, Herald. They don’t know how to handle that.”

    “But you do?” you wonder and notice too late how unfriendly that sounds. But he simply laughs.

    “I do frequent with young folk, yes,” he says. “They are my flock and I will do anything to protect them.”

    “That again, Aelfric?” Catherine joins you and slaps his shoulder just when he was about to drink from his cup. You pretend the pastries on your plate are far more interesting than watching him choke on wine. “You’re way too good for them, you know?”

    “Who is ‘them?’” you ask but Catherine just sways her hand as if he wants to get rid of a nasty fly.

    “Unimportant. You did a good job carrying the chalice to the podium.”

    “I did almost trip over these.” You pluck at the heavy robes, already looking forward to getting out of them.

    Catherine laughs but it is short lived. Out of nowhere, a knight hurriedly approaches and leans over to her, muttering, “They are after the tomb of Saint Seiros.”

    Glass shatters as her grip tightens around the fragile stem but without so much as noticing it she storms towards Rhea, fury blazing in her eyes. Something happened. Something far more exciting than playing a believer in front of everyone, so you follow her to listen in more.

    “Those dastards from the Western Church infiltrated the Holy Mausoleum,” she says. Rhea pales. “I will take some knights and go there at once.”

    “Go and be swift, Catherine.” Rhea’s words are barely a puff of breath, those news shaking her but she remains stoic in front of everyone to prevent panic. Her voice drops dangerously low. “Punish those heathens.”

    Catherine’s head dips in a slight bow. “I will, Your Grace.”

    “I want to help too.”

    Both turn around at your voice. Catherine narrows her eyes to sharp slits, but it is Rhea who says, “No. I need you here for the ceremony, Herald.”

    “Please, let me,” you beg. Something inside you demands to follow, demands to see what is inside the Holy Mausoleum that causes so much bloodshed. “I can’t explain, but I need to be there.”

    Rhea presses her lips into a thin line. Before she reopens her mouth to decline your wish, you whirl around and leave the ceremony room, Catherine in hot pursuit. You manage halfway down the hallway before she reaches you and grabs your arm hard.

    “Even though you are the Herald, I won’t allow you to show this disrespect towards Her Grace,” she snarls. “If she tells you to stay, you listen.”

    “I don’t expect you to understand,” you say, trying to free your arm from her bone breaking grip. “But something calls me to this place and I need to follow it.”

    Catherine isn’t pleased but she knows better than do you any real harm. With a crude nod, she allows you to follow. Several knights wait for you and together you make your way through the warm evening air towards the Holy Mausoleum that lies behind the chapel.

    You enter right before chaos erupts. At the end of the hall, its ceiling so high up it’s barely visible in the dark, Byleth stands tall and rises a sword that flashes in a bright red light. A throb goes through your body and brings you to your knees. It feels like an arrow drove into your chest, the stinging pain unlike anything you’ve felt before—no, it’s a pain you haven’t felt since the Crest appeared on your eye for the first time. And then that thrumming energy within you exploded, a sharp crimson that drenched every corner of your right vision, rushing through your veins.

    “Kill them!” an enemy mage commands, fury fuelling him to a last desperate attack. With his remaining companions, they summon a giant fire spell you’ve only read about in books, a combination of spells into a group flame that covers a large area—the pre-stage to a much more fatal blaze that can scorch the land. Blaze or no, the effect watching the giant fire ball curling and sparking until it grows large enough to wipe out anything in its way is the same. Fear paralyses your body. Move, your mind screams, but you can’t. Your muscles have locked up; a high whine of terror fills your head and fizzes in your blood like poison, yet you do not understand where this fear of fire comes from.

    “Take cover!” Catherine roars but it is too late. The blast hits the ground right before you, dispersing your small group of reinforcements like wind scattering leaves in all directions. A loud crack beneath you makes your heart skip a beat, a rumble shakes the hall and before you can fully comprehend what is happening, the ground gives way.

    The last thing you hear is Byleth shouting, not Herald, but your name before you plunge into darkness.

    Wake up.

    You have to wake up.

    This darkness is terrifying, so utterly black and choking, curling around you like a tight fist. Like someone is holding you in their dirty, tainted clutches, smelling of death and horror. Wake up, you tell yourself, more urgent now, your mind struggling to escape from claws digging into your consciousness, their goal unknown but you don’t want to stay here to find out what they are after. What they want to take from you.

    Wake up, this time another voice, the voice, echoing like a sweet bell’s chime, the flicker of light in a darkness so black it hums. You have to wake up.

    Your eyes snap open, the sudden white ceiling hurting like a sudden flash of light. Once you’re used to the brightness, you realise this isn’t a room, this is … this is your consciousness—no walls, no windows. It’s just a space, and yet you can clearly determine borders. Somewhere is an exit you’re free to use, nothing holds you captive. It’s your safe place. Your haven. Which doesn’t explain how you’ve gotten here.

    All you know is it feels safe. It feels like a warm embrace, the feeling of hope, watching a budding flower embraced by soft, fragile hands—asteritrope, your mind provides out of nowhere, the flower always turning its head towards the Blue Star.

    It is like breaking a spell. First, everything is simply white, empty, a second later, you stand in a vast field of asteritropes, an ocean of purple, gently swaying flowers at your feet. Everything smells of sweet innocence, of honey dipped fingers and bittersweet regret. It is a familiar scent, one your body remembers and reacts to with a shudder so strong it rattles deep in your bones; a chill so cold it freezes you on the spot, the slightest movement threatening to shatter you entirely.

    What is this grief, this sadness? Is it your own or have you fallen into a sea of tears wept by someone else? Your chest is heavy with a burden, a pulling towards the unknown that is yet so familiar. It is homesickness towards a place you have never been but long to visit.

    The flowers shaped like little stars stretch beyond what you think are the edges of this place. If this is a dream, you don’t want to wake up anytime soon, relishing in this peace and quiet.

    A peace and quiet that lasts only a moment until you notice it. Not it, him. In the middle of the field, a boy sits, bent over something that demands his complete attention. Dark curls fall against pale skin, his brows pulled tightly together as his fingers work something in his lap. He is wearing a simple white robe, though it is unlike any of the religious wear you've seen on the priests and nuns; it seem ... too old for that. Only after you approach, you see he is folding purple flowers and green steams into a crown.

    “Hello?” you say, only now entertaining the idea you might have died and this is the afterlife, the first point before returning to the goddess’ side. It is a strangely tranquil thought. “Can you hear me?”

    The boy’s head snaps up, his eyes wide as he momentarily forgets his work, and you take a step back, struck by how bright his steel grey eyes are. They roam over you, up and down, back up again, as he slowly raises to his feet.

    “You’re here,” he says, awestruck. “You’re finally here. It is so nice to meet you after all this time.”

    His voice is like a punch to your gut. You recognise it immediately, the voice who pulled you back from the darkness.

    “You—” Nothing makes sense. “Who are you? What are you?”

    “There is nothing to fear,” he says, offering you his hand. The tips of his fingers are purple from handling delicate petals. The crown lies at his bare feet, forgotten. He looks strangely vulnerable.

    You take another step back, worry a steady, hard pulse against your neck. The air catches in your lungs. You feel like the ground is opening beneath your feet. “Are you … the goddess? A god?”

    The boy blinks, then throws his head back and bursts out laughing, the sound like sweet bells chiming in the wind. “You people love to call everything you do not understand god.”

    “Then what are you?” It comes out as a breath, and for a brief second you think it’s fear that seizes your body, but no. You should be afraid and yet instead of frenzy panic there is a calm spreading inside you as if you belong here. You can’t say if it’s the boy’s presence or the familiar scent of wildflowers.

    The boy leans his head to the side, his smile as vibrant as early sunlight casting away leftover shadows from a dark night. “Hmmm … the End, perhaps? Or why not just … a friend?”

    “The end? My end?”

    “No, the end is never simply the end,” he says, shaking his head.

    “Is that supposed to reassure me?”

    “It may be a rebirth,” he continues. “Or the passing into a new era. Into a new dawn.”

    “A new dawn,” you mumble. The realisation makes your knees weak. “Don’t tell me—” You suck in a sharp breath, unable to belief where your thoughts are hurling towards in lightning speed. You kneel onto the soft flowerbed, careful not to crush any flowers. “Why are we here … do you know me by chance?”

    “I … cannot say for sure,” he starts slowly, uncertainty turning his features even younger. “I have been watching you since you awoke four moons ago. On that day, I as well awoke from a deep slumber. But I do not know why it is you that I am bound to.”

    “Bound to?” Your head spins. “What do you mean?”

    “You must have felt it by now, have you not? I am here because of this,” he says, and lifts his hand to point at your right eye. You flinch back as if he smacked you right across your face.

    “So you are him,” you whisper, a shudder ripping through your body. “You’re the first Herald. You are Seiros’ Champion.”

    The boy smiles.

[politics-notmything]

If I drink enough.

So, i got a comment saying the ship kinda died after i stopped posting fics… and even though I’ve been reluctant to post anything following recent events I do still love the ship, the community, the tag and i’d hate to see it die. Also, if anyone is paranoid or cautious following recent events, feel free to check this. 

Inspired by the song, ‘Talia’ by King Princess. 

It had always been a rocky relationship. The pair were just opposites, yet they still tried to make things work. It wasn’t the best idea. 

Anne Boleyn and Catherine Parr soon discovered that they could never be happy together. Anne was comfortable lying in bed till 3pm whereas Cathy would demand they woke at 8am and doing an activity by 8:30. 

Cathy hates breaking away from a schedule, but Anne Boleyn finds it impossible to keep every day the same; there has to be a little change. 

The 6th queen would stay awake all night, writing down her thoughts and revising various language devices, but despite Anne’s constant begging, she would never sleep more than 2 hours. 

They didn’t match. 

Usually, red and blue gays (because who’s ever heard of green and blue gays) slot right into each other like peas in a pod; adjusting schedules to compromise with the other. Not now, not ever. 

In the dark, Anne Boleyn is wasted on her bedroom floor, back against the foot of her bed, tears running down her cheeks and leaving streak marks amongst her makeup. Her hazel eyes surrounded by a halo of skin where she’d been wiping her tears. 

Clutching a phone in shaky hands, Anne dialled a recurring number that immediately went to voicemail, “Hey, my love.” 

The Boleyn girl didn’t know how many voicemails she’d sent since Catherine walked out and had no knowledge that anyone was listening. But even through the heartbreak, she still tried to reach out. “I buried you a month or two ago-” Her voice cracked. “But I keep thinking that you're standing on my floor. That you're waiting there for me.” 

Anne adjusted herself and rubbed her temples, 

“You've walked out a hundred times, how was I supposed to know this time that you wouldn't call?” She paused, looking for the right thing to say, “That you wouldn't come home?” 

The Boleyn girl just decided to let it all go. She concluded that Cathy's chances of listening to her mass of voicemails were meagre, and the writer probably wouldn’t care anyway.

“But four drinks and I’m wasted. I can see you dancing, I can lay down next to you, at the foot of my bed.” She shut her eyes, swimming in her thoughts, “If I drink enough, I can taste your lipstick, I can lay down next to you. But it's all in my head.” 

Anne felt like she experienced the 5 stages of grief all at once because her sorrow suddenly evolved into anger.

“When you left, you took my bestest friends away. And in this mess, I think I dug a thousand graves, Cathy. I hope you're happy anyway.” 

Anne managed to stop herself before she made matters worse. After all, it was her intense emotions and impulse decisions which got them into this mess.  

“But four drinks and I'm wasted.” Anne forced a stray tear from her eye, “I can see you dancing, I can lay down next to you at the foot of my bed. If I drink enough, I can taste your lipstick, I can lay down next to you. But it's all in my head.” 

Anne’s heart rate rose, and she clenched her jaw, “You broke my heart, now I'm wasting my time on you.” 

Unbeknownst to Anne and 200 miles away, Catherine Parr was in the same position. Knees held close to her chest and delicate tears dripping down her cheeks whilst listening to the recent voicemail. 

“If I drink enough, I can see you dancing, I can lay down next to you, at the foot of my bed. But it's all in my head.” Cathy crumbled after hearing Anne’s final lyric, “If I drink enough, I swear that I will wake up next to you.”

[julie-slamdrews]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Six - Marlow/Moss Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cathy & Pigeons Characters: Catherine Parr, Other queens feature in background Additional Tags: Found Family Series: Part 2 of Menagerie Tales Summary:

Cathy just wants to give the pigeons outside the theatre a home. The others are reluctant. (They turn out to be right.)