#Rose immediately having the thought of moving in with her daughter and just leaving Blanche like that after all those years was insane

[skysglcw]

I’m not crazy (at least I think I’m not) but idk what you call a person who refuses to sleep even if it’s 5 in the morning and has done nothing but scroll through hundreds of posts of Blanche and Dorothy on Tumblr just to fangirl all over for them because you're too overwhelmed by their chemistry and the feeling just makes you hyped even more to the point where you can't sleep anymore because you're too excited although your eyes are burning from staring at the screen too long……

[lady-plantagenet]

🌹!

In response to: for every "🌹" received in my inbox i'll post one random sentence of a random WIP i'm currently writing

Also tagging @houseofclarence (though I’ll write a separate one just for you as well)

Thank you for the rose ;). I had a couple written but could not edit them until now because of exam results stress. This is from my primary WIP ‘A Bygone Era’ on AO3, mainly centering around the lives of Isabel, George and Warwick. This is set just over a year ago from where I have written up to (Beggining of 1470). It depicts Anne Neville’s return from Coventry post- Battle of Tewksbury, her widowhood and the death of the sisters’ father. It is their reunion, and Isabel is still mourning her father and a little reticent at George for betraying him.

The Excerpt:

She could barely make out the thin, bowed form of her sister. A sore spot of white against the feathered edges of the Thames overlapping tides.

Isabel and George stood secluded into Scott’s yard, on the balcony of a merchant house whose owner, just over a score of years ago, swept it up in the madness of Jack Cade’s rebellion. When the cries of maladministration and pleas against corrupt advisors, then clang from where the London Stone was struck, drew the citizen onto London Bridge, (where Isabel had been told), by his bravest and most uncalculated deed, he fell in the skirmish bellow. The house nevertheless remained.

George drew the perfumed fur, lining his wrist, pressed it against his nose in protest against how the stench rose at sunset. ‘Here comes your sister, affecting frailness’ he gestured at how she, with trembling hands, drew her gorget past her chin in the distance.

‘Perhaps, or the dragon Margaret had gobbled her up only to spit her out when she found her daughter-in-law only to her liking when it was Edward of Lancaster that stood between them’ Isabel shrugged, before beckoning him to the stairs. Anne embarked.

‘Sister’ she breathed as she grabbed Isabel’s cold hands into her own warmer ones. ‘How I have missed you. Your company and the house, with a father’s spirit watching over us? There is no harbour I find to be safer’. Isabel found her voice to be undulled as her countenance. The dark eyes, their fathers’ seemed two drops of tar in a face blanched and blended into her mourning garb. The waning light shielding any glimpse of the clever brown.

‘Would not my brother of Gloucester’s hearth be your preferred harbour? Fortunate are we who so easily prevail over widowhood’ George retorted as they moved through the threshold and into the main hall of L’Érber.

Anne’s voice was much deeper than Isabel remembered it when she spoke. ‘If I were truly a widow, dear brother, would I have need of you as my guardian?’ it nearly sounded like their mother, but with none of her subtle drone.

‘It is by reason of your youth. That you know that very well’

‘Then in spite of or for my mind, which is that of a child. I rate all homes of the house of York as my salvation. May I not then find peace in my recountances of childhood bliss? Now then! Do you still look with malice on the happy reunion between your brother and I, at Coventry?’

‘What may have been from our girlhood at Middleham is now changed’ coldly reasoned Isabel ‘Think as you like on Gloucester sister, but the man has spent many years and silent among those who would have bespoiled our father’s name. What allegiance do you therefore think the brother of Edward could carry for the daughter of Warwick and the wife of Lancaster?’ the cold craft strange for one so young she remembered her father warn.

George then passed an impatient look at Anne, which her mind noted and printed immediately. A cloth over a defiant flame, by the time her sister gave her leave to retire. George then lifted Isabel’s limp wrist, pressing a kiss on her hand before covering it with his. In this gesture more ardent than any that preceded it these months past, the young duchess, in the movement of her heart, felt a thaw begin to act. Damn you George Plantagenet, she thought, a little smiling.

[aria-chicken-flugget]

Yuunoa One-Shot Prompt! New Family AU!

Relationships: Yuuichirou Hyakuya/Shinoa Hiragi

Characters: Yuuichirou Hyakuya, Shinoa Hiragi, (side) Mikela Hyakuya, (side) Guren Ichinose, (side) Yayoi Endo

Rated: General Audiences (ao3) (Mild sexual references)

Summary: Yuu sees his new born twins and contemplates how lucky he is.

For @34716156hnsy :) <3

The silver light of the moon filtered through the hospital window, blanching the crisp sheets and the ashen lilac tufts of hair that hung over Shinoa's face. Yuu allowed himself to watch her peaceful slumber a moment longer whilst idly stroking her forearm. He smiled before rising as quietly as he could muster, save for the small hiss that his cracking joints forced him to release. He left the small room stiffly, rubbing he nape of his neck. Though he could feel himself forcing his eye lids to peel open with each blink, nothing made him feel more alive than what he was about to do.

"Can I see them again?"

He flattened his palms against the desk where there was only one nurse. The dimly lit corridors merely awake with a faint monitor bleeping here and there. Nurse Yayoi quirked her hot pink brow and eyed him from over her glasses with a knowing smile,

"Hyakuya, isn't it?"

Yuu nodded enthusiastically despite his all but two hour and thirteen-minute sleep so far that night. Yayoi smiled almost to herself when realising who she was dealing with. This man wasn't going to take no for an answer. She hated denying new parents anything to do with their children. She rose from behind the desk,

"Right this way."

As she led him towards the ward. His palms began to sweat and his heart raced as he ran a hand through his jet-black mop of hair that hadn't tamed his whole life. He briefly wondered if maybe one of them might have hair like that too, one day. The thought made him beam uncontrollably. 

"Here they are."

The nurse with the fuchsia hair lilted quietly. Yuu found himself taking fastidious steps towards the glass, looking through to see all the new borns in the nursery. His palms rested against the glass in a childish excitement as his eyes darted around to find them. Yayoi tried to suppress her small giggle with her hand at his demeanour. She shouldn't do this, but she just couldn't help but want to indulge this new parent's elation. She allowed a bright smile,

"Would you like to go inside?"

His bright emerald orbs flashed to her with a sharp breath and before he knew it, she was allowing him inside the nursery to see them. His children. Our babies... We're parents he thought, bursting with joy. His breath hitched, eliciting an inaudible laugh as Nurse Yayoi helped gently scoop up their first born. Bundled in a soft, white blanket and knitted hat. His eyes were glistening as she helped place the new born in his arms, he gasped the moment he was holding her. His first born, a daughter. We still need to think of a name he mused internally before eyeing the nurse hopefully. She was already holding his second born, his son, whom they also hadn't named as of yet. The names they'd thought of during Shinoa's pregnancy just didn't quite fit who their babies have been born to be…

"I happen to think Guren is a great name. Strong and -"

"Oh please, there's no need to curse the poor child with that name."

Mika interrupted, smirking into his coffee mug as everyone laughed. Guren shrugged with a smirk,

"I'm just saying the kid'll have it good with a name like that."

Whilst he leant back into the sofa chair he'd sat on, in Yuu and Shinoa's new home. 

"And what if they’re both born as girls?"

Mika countered from his stool, making Yuu chuckle, his hand caressing Shinoa's back between her shoulder blades to ease some strain. After a light moment, Shinoa held her lower back as she moved to sit down on the sofa chair next to Guren's with gritted teeth. Her swollen belly protruded so far out that Yuu would have had several panic attacks if he didn't know that they were expecting twins. Yuu rushed over to her to hold her arm as she tried to sit and she swatted him away playfully,

"I'm fine, Yuu, really - you already did your part by getting them here in the first place."

Slightly through gritted teeth as she tried sitting as comfortably as was plausible, Yuu offered a nervous chuckle as he flushed whilst Mika and Guren barely suppressed their laughter. Shinoa allowed a devilish smirk, she adored how even after six years together he was still so easy to tease about their sex life. He's always been very private, whereas she was utterly shameless. The thought made her giggle lightly before her expression changed. She started ignoring the absent chatter of the others whilst she absorbed what had just happened. Her palms shot to cradle her swollen belly as she flashed her doe, brown eyes to her husband,

"Yuu!"

His brows furrowed, immediately striding toward her again as he realised before she'd even said anything,

"My water broke."

Guren had driven them to the hospital and nineteen hours later, here they were. Nurse Yayoi had helped him hold his son as well. Yuu's breath faltered as his son was also in his arms, both babies nestled into his chest, cradling them in an arm each. He couldn't stop looking at them. 

"You're so beautiful."

He choked a whisper, another inaudible laugh followed before he stated fervently,

"Oh I wish I could hold you all night."

As he absorbed each feature like a sponge, branding them to his memory. Wanting to remember every single thing about them on such a special day. How their tiny features were still so red, the sweet little nub that was their noses, how their skin was softer than silk. It felt like he was holding them for mere minuets when the nurse stated,

"I'm afraid we'll have to leave now."

His eyes reluctantly ripped away from them to meet her gaze with glistening eyes,

"Can I have five more minutes? Please?"

He begged and she bit her lip, eyes darting around a moment before she adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose, stating,

"I just need to grab something, you can hold them until I'm back."

Before leaving with a small smile, to which he reciprocated gratefully,

"Thank you."

He whispered back as she left before he faced his beautiful, sleeping children with a smile,

"I heard moments like this are few and far between, that you little guys don’t sleep much – or at least when we want you to. I guess you guys won't be letting me and your mom get any sleep for a while, huh?"

He chuckled to himself lightly as he cradled them closer to his chest as gently as he could. He shook his head with an internal laugh as he knew where his wife's thoughts would have been directed at his comment on them not being able to sleep as much, there were several things they’d be doing less of. His heart stopped along with his breathing when he could have sworn that he saw his son smile in his sleep.

"Are you smiling?"

He cooed quietly, careful not to wake them. Tears formed in the corner of his eyes as he smiled, trying to suppress a laugh as his daughter appeared more agitated in her sleep. A tear rolled down his cheek as he claimed in a fervent whisper,

"I can't wait to get to know you."

As his vow to always protect them, love them with all of his heart. The nurse had returned and so he breathed a ragged breath, having to be parted from them again. Not for much longer though, he argued as he swallowed his reluctance and allowed the nurse to help him gently place them back for now. Yuu was completely in the clouds, thinking of his new family. He couldn't get over just how God damn lucky he was. He thanked the nurse that gave him such allowances as he snuck back into the room where Shinoa was sleeping, as the term 'visiting hours' didn't apply to Yuuichirou Hyakuya, apparently. He was just holding onto the arms of the chair he'd been resting on to lower himself onto again when he heard the faint call,

"Yuu?"

He glanced up with his wide and bright green eyes to see his wife wearing a lazy smile. He automatically smiled with her as he thought how could she still look so goddamn beautiful after everything she's been through today? Well... Yesterday now, technically. She giggled softly at his racing thoughts and he moved his chair closer to the bed before sitting, taking her soft hand into the both of his,

"I'm sorry I woke you."

Before planting a chaste kiss upon her fingertips, caressing her small hand in his. She was notably weakened still, anaesthetic or not she gave birth not once but twice in one day. Her smile brightened as she said lowly,

"You didn't. I'm glad you're still here."

Their eyes didn't break contact and he brought her fingertips to his mouth again, kissing them once more as he claimed,

"I'm so proud of you."

Her heart still swelled at his words with a small, sharp intake of breath. After all this time, he always knew how to make her speechless and weak at the knees, making her feel like they were teenagers again. Her thoughts drifted to how he has been so stubbornly by her side that he's even refused to leave now, when some fathers don't want anything to do with their children. She tried interlocking her fingers with one of his hands as her eyes glistened with just how grateful she was, he used his spare hand to gently brush her stray strands of lilac hair from her face with expert care. They stayed that way for a while, his fingertips traced her features as delicately as a moth’s wing, tears pricked in his eyes once more. 

"Don't cry, Yuu."

Shinoa implored in the silence, tears threatening to cloud her vision now also and he smiled, meeting her gaze as his fingertips stopped at her cheekbone, he choked,

"You've given me everything I could have ever wanted."

He breathed a laugh as she beamed, a tear escaping her. Before Shinoa, he was lucky enough to have Mika and Guren as his adoptive family, but there was always something missing. He always wanted one of his own. Shinoa was much the same, having met Yuu shortly after being disowned by her so-called family. Now they have their new family. He rose from his seat and planted a tender kiss upon her forehead. He didn't seem to mind the sheen of sweat that would usually threaten such a moment. He hovered over her as she whispered with a smile,

"I love you. So much."

Making him smile in return,

"Well that's good, it's a little late for you to back out."

He teased as he brushed her hair behind her ear and she giggled softly, tracing her small hands up his strong arms,

"Divorce exists, you know."

"Is that a threat, Shinoa Hyakuya?"

He lilted with near seduction in his tone and she bit her lip to suppress her giggle before enveloping his neck with her arms to embrace him.

"You're so stupid, Yuu."

She teased in his ear and he chuckled a husky laugh before peeling himself away enough to see her face, 

"I love you, too."

Making her smile again before he planted a chaste kiss on her lips. After spending the night at the edge of her bed in that crappy hospital chair, Yuu couldn't wait to go home and sleep. Guren had come to pick them up with Mika, claiming they would be the better Godparent over the other respectively. Shinoa was looking much better, some colour had returned to her cheeks. The two couldn't help but beam as they got to see their children, their beautiful twins, and take them home for the first time.

NOTES: 

I hope this was the sort of thing you were after! :) <3 

I literally wound up feeling so happy writing this like Yuu as a happy father just makes me feel so happy!! :D anyways, i hope you like it too Yuunoa shippers! :D

[thebestdressedrebelinhistory]

hicsqueak 12: things you said when you thought i was asleep

for @roguebeachcomber

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

“She’s okay, all things considered. As okay as she can be, in any event.”

They were the first words Hecate heard when she woke up, groggy and disoriented in Pippa’s bed. Pippa’s voice was hushed, but tense, even from out in her sitting room. She clearly thought Hecate was still asleep, was clearly trying to keep the noise to a minimum for her sake.

Hecate wondered, for a moment, who she was talking to. Who would mirror Pippa so late at night, and for what purpose. She considered going to check, to make sure everything was okay. The last thing she remembered was grudgingly allowing herself to be led to Pippa’s bed, with firm instructions to get some rest, you look a fright; we’ll talk about this after . It was with some chagrin and no small amount of frustration, that Hecate realized Pippa must have tucked her into bed.

Until the voice on the other end of the mirror came through, and Hecate froze halfway through swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

She knew it was Ada from the all-too-familiar sigh, before she spoke. “I’m relieved to hear that. She was quite distressed when she left this evening.”

“And why wouldn’t she be? Finding out, months after the fact, that not only did her students dose her with a personality changing potion, but there was apparently a staff-wide conspiracy to keep it a secret from her, cannot possibly have been pleasant.”

Oh.

Oh, no.

“Miss Pentangle--”

Pippa’s voice was hard when she interrupted, sharp in a way that it rarely was. Angrier than Hecate had heard in years. “Miss Cackle, I in no way wish to overstep my bounds--”

“I have found that those words are rarely the precursor to anything else.” Ada’s voice was mild, but Hecate immediately heard the undercurrent of hardness that matched Pippa’s own.

“Perhaps that may be,” Pippa pressed, growing imperious with a self-righteousness that Hecate was entirely too familiar with. “But I feel it would be remiss of me not to voice my concerns over the fact that some of your students intentionally drugged a member of your staff, and faced no consequences whatsoever for doing so.”

“The students in question understand the severity of their actions,” Ada said sharply. “Though I hardly see as how it is in any way your place to bring into question my school’s disciplinary practices.”

The silence that hung thick in the air was more concerning than anything Pippa might have said on impulse. Hecate could almost hear Pippa counting to ten in her head, pushing her temper down as far as it would go. As far as her pride would let it.

“To be clear,” Pippa said, finally, “you are saying that you feel the consequences meted out, nonexistent as they were, are appropriate given the… given the damage they caused?”

Hecate felt the back of her neck prickle at that. She was profoundly uncomfortable with being the topic of this conversation. With the fact that this conversation was taking place between her employer and closest friend, and… whatever she and Pippa were to one another. With the fact that people were, once again, discussing the manner in which her own students had violated her. The fact that her colleagues had actively worked to keep her from knowing.

With the fact that Pippa felt compelled to fight this battle on her behalf.

But then, Hecate had decided not to fight it herself. Had instead made up the tersest, quickest excuse she could, and left the school as quickly as possible. Had run away from problems that felt larger than she could deal with. As she always had.

“The chances were excellent that she never would have remembered,” Ada said, quietly. Hecate felt her stomach give a sickening lurch. “Personality potions almost always leave a permanent mental block that--”

Pippa’s voice rose, fury brushing at the edges. “And that makes it better? That you and your staff willingly kept something of this gravity from her? Believing that she would never remember? That it would be a secret between yourselves and every student in your school?”

It wasn’t that Pippa’s anger came as a surprise, necessarily. She had been equally outraged when Hecate had told her, had nearly flown to Cackle’s herself to tell Ada off. It had only been at Hecate’s behest -- which had been closer to pleading than Hecate cared to admit -- that Pippa had relented, wrapping Hecate instead in a furious hug and whispering I am so, so sorry over and over until Hecate thought the words might just be imprinted on her soul.

Hecate suspected that Pippa had not been the one to initiate this interaction. She doubted that Pippa would go behind her back. She had always been far too straightforward, far too open and honest for that. And if nothing else, Pippa would know how personal a betrayal Hecate would find it if she did.

Which meant that Ada had called to inquire about her well-being.

The words too little, too late sat heavily in the back of Hecate’s mind, cold and bitter. For years, she had considered Ada her closest, most trusted friend. As much as it stung, the knowledge that  her students hated her enough to try and use magic to fundamentally change who she was as a person wasn’t what had truly hurt. It was the fact that Ada -- and the rest of her colleagues -- had known and not felt that she had the right to know. That they were seemingly content to keep this a secret from her for… how long?

“How,” Pippa continued, dangerously, “can you possibly call yourself her friend, if you ever thought that this wouldn’t be a violation of the greatest order to Hecate?”

There was a moment of silence so long, Hecate almost thought that someone had ended the call in anger. But then, Ada’s voice came through, hesitant and uncertain and lacking the defensive edge Hecate had heard before. “I had to take into consideration that the girls in question were first year students. That they are children, who had little concept of--”

“Or, you didn’t want to expel Ursula Hallow’s daughter while she was out for your blood.”

Pippa was treading dangerously close to crossing a line, Hecate knew. But the thought had occurred to her; had, in fact, been the first thing to occur to her, when she found out. And a part of her was relieved, in a pathetic, somewhat spineless way, that someone else had thought of it, too.

That someone else had said it.

Even if it wasn’t her.

Even if Pippa had once again stepped up to fight Hecate’s battles when she herself shied away from them.

Even if some part of her understood. Understood Beatrice and Clarice and Sibyl, and their frustration. Understood that her coworkers wouldn’t want to broach that topic, wouldn’t want to justify their decision to her.

To some degree, she even understood the decision itself.

“Miss Pentangle.” The edge in Ada’s voice was back, harder and angrier than ever. “Do you think it at all possible that you might be biased in this situation?”

“Miss Cackle, even if I were, would that make me wrong?” Even from the bedroom, Hecate could hear the way Pippa’s voice sharpened like a knife, cold fury in every word.

Ada’s sigh was so soft, so resigned, that Hecate barely heard it. “I don’t know . It was… is… a very difficult situation. I don’t believe that there was any good way to handle it. Clearly, you disagree with the choices made. But they have already been made, and no amount of ire on your part will change that.”

“Then I will assume I have answered your questions to your satisfaction, and let you get back to sleep.” Pippa’s voice was terse, heavy with everything she had left unsaid. Everything Hecate knew she still wanted to say.

But Pippa would respect decorum when it was forced on her, however grudgingly.

Ada must have acquiesced, because not two minutes later, Pippa appeared in the doorway, frustration coming off her in waves. She blanched when she saw Hecate sitting upright.

“I’m sorry, Hiccup,” she said, making her way over to the bed and sitting down heavily. Hecate shifted slightly, adjusting her balance as the mattress moved underneath her. “Miss Cackle called asking after you, and you were asleep, and…” Pippa trailed off, the way she always did when she was uncertain about something. “I didn’t want to wake you,” she said, finally. “I thought… considering everything… that you deserved a night’s rest.”

She said nothing of the content of their conversation, though she had to know that Hecate had heard. And Hecate, for her part, had no particular desire to bring it up. She didn’t know what she would say, if she did. Thank you for standing up for like you always do, even if I’m not certain I agree with you had a rather poor ring to it.

“I appreciate you taking the call,” Hecate said, slowly. “I don’t believe I am… quite fit for conversation at the moment.” She said it grudgingly, but she also knew it to be true on some fundamental level. The thought of talking to Ada tonight turned her stomach in a most unpleasant way. She would get over it, she was sure, eventually. But eventually was not tonight, and tonight, the only thing Hecate wanted was to think of literally anything else.

Which was something Pippa apparently understood. With a gentle nudge of her shoulder against Hecate’s, she said, “Now move over, for goodness sake. You know how tired righteous indignation makes me.”

Hecate didn’t even try to conceal the chuckle that bubbled up in her throat. “I do remember something of the sort, yes.”

Hecate moved back to the other side of the bed -- her side, on the nights she spent with Pippa -- and eased back under the covers, turning to face the window. She wasn’t convinced that sleep would come again quite so easily, if at all. But she knew that for all her talk, Pippa wouldn’t actually fall asleep unless Hecate did. That she would refuse to leave her alone, no matter how much Hecate tried to insist that it was unnecessary. And, if she were being completely honest, Hecate had to admit that, at least for tonight, that was something she appreciated much more than she let on.

Pippa slid into bed beside Hecate, and wrapped one arm around Hecate’s stomach, warm and solid and exactly the right kind of there . “I’m glad you’re safe, Hiccup,” she murmured, softly into the back of Hecate’s neck. “I’m glad you came to me.”

Hecate’s breath caught in her chest for a moment. Then, she turned her head, just enough that Pippa would be able to hear her, and said, “So am I.”

[odaofiga]

an Oda of Iga, continued

Genre: Fluff, AU Characters: Nobunaga, Mitsuhide Word Count: 1,251 A/N: I really didn’t want to post this, part two, without the third portion of the chapter, but some difficulty with dialogue is holding it up. As it doesn’t contribute much to the plot, I may just scrap part 3 if I can’t figure it out by week’s end. As for Chapter 2, I’d like to get a few pieces up explaining Ai’s backstory before moving on to her time in Kai so expect an origin story next.

Chapter 1, Part 2

A soft ‘hmph’ of dissatisfaction curling his lip, Lord Nobunaga flung the offending letter toward the pair of retainers in his doorway. With a deft hand, Ai caught the parchment before it could touch the floor and help it open between her forefinger and thumb. Even as she angled it to catch the fire light enough to read the short skrawl within, her brother saved her the effort of deciphering its origins.

“...the puppet continues to buck his strings,” he hissed with contempt.

Ai’s gaze lingered on the brasen red of the shogun’s seal in the letter’s corner, leaving no doubt to its authenticity. At its head, bold, brush strokes left the identity of the recipient just as clear; Takeda Shingen, and the candid passage in between held a familiar, sequential air.  It was no wonder then that Nobunaga sat clicking his tongue with such obvious irritation. This was further proof Yoshiaki was attempting to rally his benefactor’s enemies against him. Though his secret correspondence with Uesugi and Mori was suspected as well, it seemed the tiger of Kai, at least, had an willing ear.

Mitsuhide had slid the door firmly closed behind them and now took the letter solemnly as Ai offered it. He read it just as quickly as she had, a troubled look tightening his brow, but before he could voice whatever thoughts he might have had, Nobunaga spoke again. A decision had evidently been made before they had even arrived.

“Mitsuhide, gather my retainers,” he commanded.

Mistuhide hesitated, having just bent a knee to kneel. “Milord?”

“We move for Sakamoto by weeks end.” With his intentions made clear, Lord Nobunaga’s eyes moved firmly to Ai and missed the slight blanch that appeared on his chief retainer’s cheeks. Ai, on the other hand, was close enough to hear the breath catch on his lips and flicked her gaze to him expectantly, knowing a rare rebuttal was sure to follow.

“Milord… would it not be more prudent, with the threat from Kai, to wait-”

“I will deal with the tiger,” Nobunaga’s growled, his response was immediate and harsh. “I will not allow the shogun the time to incite my enemies further. The rebellion is rooted in Mt. Hiei and it will end there. Now go.”

The fierce conviction in his words and the sudden darkness in his eyes left no room for further comment. With another low bow and leaving the letter on the tatami mat before him, Lord Mitsuhide took his leave. Tension was still evident in his shoulders as he pulled the door to in his wake.

“Ai.”

Her name, spoken in such soft contrast to his harsh words before, brought her attention back to her brother. His gray eyes were still alight with conviction, but the fire was fading. He was looking at her with a reluctance that she rarely saw, and he seemed momentarily content to merely stare at her. She decided to break the silence instead, settling back into a comfortable kneel.

“Be careful, Brother,” she said softly, glancing meaningfully at the door. “Even Mitsuhide’s loyalty isn’t boundless. And he won’t be the only one reluctant to raze Enryakuji.”

Nobunaga gave a tolerant smile that he wasn’t likely to have shown anyone but family. Choosing to ignore her comments completely, he said instead, “I have a mission for you.”

“...regarding Mt. Hiei?”

He shook his head only once. “No. You won’t be accompanying us to Sakamoto.” When Ai cocked an eyebrow in quiet surprise, he continued. “I need you to deal with the tiger of Kai.”

A silence stretched between them as she let his weighty words hang in the air, staring evenly back at her brother. Infiltration was a common mission allocated to Ai, her upbringing making her particularly suited to the task. The finer mission details frequently included anything from benign reconnaissance to target elimination, in the provinces of allies and enemies alike. Nobunaga had sent her into territories much more perilous than Kai, with far slimmer odds of survival or success, and still… a mission assignment had never been accompanied by such a weighty look of concern from her liege lord. There was something far too ‘brotherly’ in the way his eyes surveyed her now, something very unlike him.

“...you want me to kill him?”

“Takeda’s movements are of more value to me than his life. For the moment.” Nobunaga took a moment withdraw a small glass bottle from within his robes, the familiar colorful star-candy visible inside. He shook a few into his hand and transferred them to his mouth, sucking on the sugary treat to steel himself for his next words. “Ingratiate yourself to the Takeda. The tiger… has a notorious appetite.”

Ai’s lips pressed into a firm line behind the mask as understanding took hold. It wasn’t to food that he was referring, she’d heard similar rumors herself, and suddenly his hesitancy made sense. Injury and death for a mission were expected, but this was the first time she’d been tasked with warming an enemy bed in order to further his path to divine rule. Ai took a moment longer to accept than she normally would have, lowering her eyes to the tatami mats once again.

“I understand,” she said. Then, with a half glance back up, “...and… the Lady Nō?”

Another span of silence lapsed as he considered, broken only by the brief rattle of sugar stars as the bottle was set down. The Nōhime in question was the Lady Oda, Nobunaga’s official wife; though the original woman to hold the title had not lived long enough to enjoy it. The daughter of a political ally at the time, the bride to be, Lady Nō, had proven little more than a well-dressed assassin and paid with her life for it, by Ai’s own blade in fact. To avoid an untimely conflict, her crime, and her execution, had been concealed, and her public role supplemented by the only trustworthy substitute at the time; Ai. Though it had never been intended as a lasting role, the permanently-filled position of a Lady Oda had proven too beneficial to ignore; whether in deterring the odd marriage proposal or in having a ready-made, and potentially lethal, hostage to offer. So whenever ceremony demanded his wife’s attendance, Ai continued to fill the Lady Oda’s lavish robes. But if this mission was to be an extended one, her absence would need to be explained.

“Tomorrow...Nōhime will be moved to Kiyosu, to excuse her absence. You have until then to make preparations.” His words had returned to a clipped manner, but a lingering rasp in his tone made her sure his hesitancy wasn’t as easily forgotten as he wanted her to believe. Nevertheless, he presented a stout posture as he rose to his feet and gestured for her to do the same. Together they moved to the door, and Ai opened it for him, eyes appropriately lowered as he passed through.

“I will send word once I arrive.”

Only a slight lift in his jaw gave any indication he’d heard as Lord Nobunaga strode away toward the main hall. Despite the clear dismissal and the ready-made excuse not to attend the war council, she had the urge to join him and found herself lingering in the hall, eyes locked on his scarlet cloak long after it had disappeared from sight. In truth, she was far more concerned with his safety in the coming assault of Mt. Hiei than she was with her own.

[darnedchild]

Universally Monstrous - The Hunchback of Notre Dame

It's Sherlolly Halloween. This year I'm playing around with short ficlets loosely based off the classic Universal Monsters.

Universally Monstrous

The Hunchback of Notre Dame

“The Quasimodo Killer?” Sherlock scoffed.  “Really, John.  That’s the best you could do?”

John leaned back from his laptop and glared at his friend. “He leaves his victims in church bell towers.”

“Mmm.”  Sherlock shook his head and dropped into his chair with a disappointed huff.  “Fairly short-sighted signature for a budding serial killer. There are only so many bell towers in the area.”

“Yet you still haven’t managed to catch him.” John returned to pecking at his keyboard like a frustrated bird as he continued to work on a rough draft for what would eventually turn into a blog post once the case was solved.  “Six victims in eleven days and then nothing for a week.  Maybe he’s moved on.  If he is still around, I hope he holds off for another day or two.  I’m supposed to take Rosie to a fancy-dress party with her play group tonight.”

Sherlock deliberately closed his eyes and steepled his fingers against his lips, a silent signal that he was done talking.

Seconds later an icy chill ran down his spine and Sherlock’s eyes snapped open.  “Fancy dress?”

John nodded without looking up.  “Yeah, I know.  She’s three, seems a little young to be going full out already; but one of the mom’s is really into the whole party organizing thing, and Rosie picked out a unicorn costume with the most ridiculous sparkly rainbow mane.”

“What day is it?  The date.”  

John frowned at the urgent tone from his friend. “October 31st. Halloween.”

Sherlock sprung from his chair and scrambled to the window to glance at the sky.  “It’s nearly sunset.  Where is Rosie now?”

“One of the other playgroup moms offered to take her to one of those kid friendly beauty salon places before the party.  You know, paint the nails and curl the hair, a little lip gloss, pamper the girls and call them princess.”  John’s expression darkened even more.

The Consulting Detective pulled his mobile off the desk where it had been charging and began to pull up his contact list. “Call the mom, confirm she’s still with Rosie.”

“Sherlock?”  John reached out and grabbed his friend’s arm as he passed.  “What is it?”

“Something’s off.  Something … feels off.  Just call, John.”

“Yeah, all right.”  John set his laptop aside and took his phone into the kitchen.

The first text was sent to Molly.

Let me know if anything interesting comes through the morgue tonight?  Bored.

The next went to Lestrade.

Any updates on the bell tower murders?

The third was short and terse, and went to Mycroft.

Status?

Then Sherlock stood at the edge of the landing and loudly called down the stairs.  “Mrs Hudson?”

He actually held his breath for the forty seconds it took to hear the sound of shuffling footsteps approach the door of the flat below. The door creaked open and Mrs Hudson answered, “Sherlock?”

For just a moment, Sherlock allowed himself to slump against the wall in relief.  That’s one.

“Sherlock, did you need something?” Mrs Hudson called out again.

“Tea.”  He pushed away from the wall and pictured the way Molly’s lips had pursed in disapproval when she’d heard him shout the same thing last time she’d come to visit.  He leaned toward the stairs again.  “Please.”

His mobile pinged as he moved back into his sitting room. Lestrade had replied.

You mean Quasimodo?  Nothing new here.  Do you have something?

That’s two.

He sent something noncommittal in reply and joined John in the kitchen.  “Rosie?”

John held up his finger, nodding as if the person he was speaking to on the phone could see him.  “Really?  Sounds like she’s enjoying herself.  Thanks again, Marcy.”  He hung up and turned to face Sherlock.

“She’s getting a pedi, whatever that entails.  I could hear her giggling in the background.”

Three.

While he should have been feeling relieved with each consecutive check-in, Sherlock found himself becoming more and more tense. The inexplicable feeling of dread continued to grow.

A full two minutes later his mobile pinged again. An equally terse reply from Mycroft.

Status of what?

Four, Sherlock thought.  He ignored his brother and continued to wait for one last reply.

“Care to tell me what’s going on?”  John nodded toward Sherlock’s phone.  

“I don’t know.  Not for certain.  It’s just a feeling.  An instinct. Something’s off, John.  I can’t put my finger on it, not yet.”

John nodded.  “Yeah, all right.  So what’s next?”  

Sherlock stared at his phone, as if he could will it to emit the soft little trill that signalled Molly’s texts with the force of his thoughts.  “I’m waiting for one more reply.  Where is she?”

“She?”  John blanched.  “Molly.”

“Obviously Molly,” Sherlock huffed.  “Who else would-“

The mobile trilled.

Sherlock’s relief was extremely short lived.

It was Molly’s number, but he immediately knew the text hadn’t been written by his pathologist.

Ding dong, Mr Holmes.

Do I have your attention?

Ding dong. Bells.  The bell tower murderer.  

“Of course.  That’s why he’s been quiet the last week.  He’s been biding his time until tonight.  How cliché.”

“You’re kidding.”  John was suddenly at his side, trying to get a better look at the screen. “What the hell is Quasimodo doing with Molly’s phone?”

“I don’t know, perhaps his was dead and Molly simply loaned him hers.”  Sherlock glared at the other man.  

Even knowing it was mostly like a futile endeavour, he did ask about Molly.  Ask expected, the bell tower murderer ignored his question.

Time to end this cat and mouse silliness.  

I’ll send a time and place later this evening.  If you wish to see your friend in one piece ever again, you will be on time. Come alone, Mr Holmes.  I’ll know if you don’t.

He tried texting back several times, demanding to know where Molly was and if she was okay.  No reply.

“You’re not going alone,” John insisted.

“Obviously.  Once I have the location and time, you’ll contact Lestrade and meet me there.” Sherlock kept his expression as neutral as possible, even as he lied.  There was no way he was going to allow John or any member of the Yard to put Molly’s life at risk.  “Shouldn’t you be arranging for someone else to take your daughter to her party tonight?”

“Oh, God, yeah.  Right.  Maybe Mrs Hudson, she’ll understand.”  John hurried down the stairs and Sherlock immediately grabbed his Belstaff.

He slipped through the front door as soon as he was sure John was busy with Mrs Hudson.  He stayed in the general area of Baker Street.  The bell tower murderer would most likely base his meeting time off the assumption that Sherlock was waiting at home; if he travelled too far in the wrong direction, he might not arrive at the appointed time.

It was just after eleven thirty when his mobile trilled. The message simply said five to midnight and an address.

Sherlock reviewed the street maps in his head and compared them to the average traffic patterns for that time of night.  It would be close.  

If you’re late she will die.

For one brief moment he considered alerting John, then shook his head and set off at a run down the nearly empty sidewalk. There wasn’t time to catch a cab and hope for the best.

He found the condemned church with two minutes to spare. The front door was cracked open, saving him from needing to find a way to break in.  The interior was dark except for a few lit tealights that had been left like a trail of breadcrumbs leading him to a set of stairs.

To the bell tower.

Sherlock took the stairs two at a time until he reached the small room that housed the disused church bell.   The room was open to the night on all four sides.  It was obvious that the bell had been purely decorative for the last few years that the church had been in operation.  The chimes would have come from a recording, the partially ripped out wiring in the ceiling would have belonged to speakers.

And there, huddled on the floor behind the bell, was Molly.

He wanted to rush to her side and pull her into his arms to shield her from the cold night air, but he needed to remain on alert while he looked for the man who had already murdered six people.  Sherlock eased around the bell and knelt by her side, keeping his gaze moving as he peered into every shadow.

Her head lifted at the endearment.  He chanced glancing down at her, needing to confirm she was going to be all right.  

“Sherlock?”  Her voice was thin and soft, and her eyes were wet with tears.

“I’m here, sweetheart.  Can you tell me where he went, how long has he been gone?” Sherlock couldn’t shake the feeling of unease.  Finding Molly had been easy, far too easy.  An obvious trap, but how would it be sprung.

“I never left, Mr Holmes.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened.  He’d expected the words to come from the shadows, not from the small woman at his side.  Her tone was firmer than before, harsher.  Her expression twisted into something malevolent and cold.  

“Molly?”

Molly grimaced.  “She’s quite stubborn.  Didn’t want to give up control, none of them really ever do, but she’s been more of a pain than the others.”  Molly pushed Sherlock away with almost superhuman strength.  He slid across the floor and into the balustrade opposite hard enough to hear something crack and knock the air from his lungs.

He huffed and rolled to his knees.

She rose to her feet and tilted her head to look down at him.  “I wasn’t sure you’d come.  You didn’t seem like the sentimental type the last time we met.”

Sherlock pulled himself up, using the railing for support.  Judging from the sharp pain, he may have broken a rib.  “Met?”

“Minsk.  Belarus. You weren’t very polite, Mr Holmes. Leaving me there, in that prison, to hang for my wife’s murder.”  Molly shook her head and tsked.  “It’s okay though.  Gave me a chance to meet some old friends of yours on the other side.”

“Friends?”  Sherlock searched the bell tower, looking for anything he could use to defend himself. Although, when the time came, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to bring himself to hurt her.  No matter what was going—Spirits did not exist and people did not get possessed by the ghosts of vengeful ex-clients, did they?—she was still his Molly.  

“You’re a popular man, Mr Holmes.  You’ve made lots of people very, very angry.  They’ll be so jealous when they realize I found a way back.”

Sherlock tugged on the railing, testing to see if it was loose enough he could pull part of it free to use as a club.  “And how did you manage that, Bernard?”

“Berwick!” Molly growled.  “It’s easy enough, when the time is right and you know the path. Found a priestess who wanted to visit her family.  Took her place and crossed over instead.  And now, after I take over you and kill your friend, I’ll be able to stay.  Fitting revenge, don’t you think?”

‘I’ll be able to stay.’  There’s the clue.

“And if you don’t kill her?”  The railing didn’t have much give, but the harder he pulled the more it creaked.

“Then I kill you.  It doesn’t matter as long as the seventh dies before the last stroke of midnight.  This isn’t the body I would have chosen, but it’s better than nothing.  Who knows, I may learn to enjoy myself, she’s pretty enough.”  Molly leered and reached up to cup her own breasts.

Sherlock hissed, “Don’t you touch her.”

Molly threw back her head to laugh and Sherlock made his move.  He launched himself toward her, hoping to knock her down, but she was much more solid than she looked.  She fought back and he found himself on the floor with her body holding him down.  

Impossibly, the rusted church bell began to sway and a phantom clapper struck the side.

Midnight!

For one brief moment, the face above his softened and Molly was once again looking at him.  “He’s panicking.  Run, Sherlock.”

He reached up to touch her cheek as the bell continued to ring out.  “I can’t. I won’t.  I love you.”

Her head fell to his chest and he heard her sob, but when she lifted it again it was Berwick’s eyes that stared back at him. “Touching, but pointless.”  

Molly’s hands wrapped around his throat and began to squeeze.  Sherlock thrashed underneath her, trying to throw her off even as part of his mind counted off the bell’s strikes.  His vision began to grow dark at ten.

Then he was free, free to draw in air.  

Molly was on her knees at his side, hands pressed against her head and her face twisted in pain.  “No, no!  I won’t let you do it!”

The eleventh stroke rang out.

She glared at Sherlock and snarled, “Stupid bitch won’t stay down.  I’m out of time, Holmes, but don’t think you’ve won.  There’s always next year.”  She collapsed as the bell rang one final time.

Sherlock crawled to her side and rolled her over. She was breathing, which was a good sign.  “Molly. Molly, sweetheart.  Can you hear me?”

Her eyes opened and he sobbed in relief.  “Is he gone?” she asked.

“For now.”

[hillnerd]

Taking a Shallow Breath Ch 7

|Harry Potter | Fanfiction | PG-13 | in-progress | Ch: 3706 words

Ships: Rose/Scorpius, canon and others | FF.net

Romance friendship comedy family & drama | starts super silly- will get more serious as we go. 

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 

A person's front door can say a great deal about them.

Some people enjoy choosing grande hand-carved doors that have history, and speak of times of old. Scorpius tended to like people who chose such doors. It meant they appreciated artistry, quality, and could embrace the unique. They also had a flair for drama. Rose loved those kinds of doors.

Some people prefer the clean lines of an Edwardian door. These usually put more effort into the knobs, hinges, and door-knockers than the wood itself. They speak of someone who enjoys details, while being beyond the fuss of the overly grande, and relatively down to earth. Scorpius had such a door.

There were also doors filled with character but no artistry. Albus had such a door. It was beaten up from years of use, a faded orange color, and the number six hung down so that it looked like a nine. He had a shoddy matt out front with stripes, and though it was anything but put together, it had a certain charm about it.

And finally there was the red hunk of metal Brad had the audacity to call a door.

It bore no decoration- there wasn't even a welcome matt: just a cold steel handle, highly glossy red metal and a black peep hole. It spoke of someone slick like the varnish, cool like the metal, and flashy like that atrocious tomato red.

Scorpius hated that door.

What he hated even more was that he had been staring at it for one hour, nineteen minutes, and ten seconds.

"Rose! Open this door! This is getting ridiculous!" yelled Brad.

One hour, nineteen minutes, and fifteen seconds with the poncy owner himself.

"Calling her actions ridiculous will hardly entice her to leave," Scorpius drawled from the floor.

Brad tried another spell. The door glowed blue then turned garish red again.

"You've also tried that spell already," said Scorpius, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Rose's Charms are the best. Get a magical locksmith: I doubt drawing up contracts for overpaid Quidditch stars has improved your charms enough to worm your way in."

Scorpius was satisfied to see Brad's shoulders tense. Until Brad, Scorpius had never met someone he could not get a rise out of when he wanted to. He had never seen the man lose his cool, which made Al's theory that 'Bert' was not human slightly more plausible.

"It's a Sunday. Magical Locksmiths are like banks and private practice Healers- closing at the merest hint of a Holiday or weekend." Brad leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. "Rose's Uncle is a cursebreaker... Perhaps I could get him to open the door."

"If you want the whole Weasley family to know your personal business with Rose, by all means do," said Scorpius. "I'm sure her father would be keen to know why his only daughter has barricaded herself."

Brad blanched.

"You know, this is probably the most I've ever heard you talk, Scorpius."

Scorpius stoically did not mention he despised Brad and generally made excuses to escape his company.

"I suppose I just don't see enough of you and Al, though I think Al orchestrates that. He seems to rather despise me. If it weren't for the fact that he and Rose were cousins ,I'd think he were jealous."

"He is very protective of Rose," Scorpius said with a schooled shrug.

"As are you."

Scorpius remained silent. He didn't like where Brad was probing with this conversation.

"You know, there is a closeness between you and Rose I quite envy at times..."

"Perhaps, if you weren't so busy negotiating with Melrose Fenwick, you could spend time with Rose," said Scorpius.

"We spend plenty of time together," Brad said with a raunchy smile that made Scorpius roll his eyes. "But I still envy your friendship. Sometimes I even worry she tells you things she would never tell me."

"I wouldn't know. I'm not privy to your private conversations, after all." Scorpius could not recall being more uncomfortable. He hoped this would bring an end to this intimate look into Brandon Bradley's perspective. He came from a family where you were taught to never reveal your weaknesses, or worries, for fear they would be exploited later. Being a Slytherin only further enforced this. Scorpius had very few people he trusted with his insecurities, secrets and dreams. Brad would never be one of them, and he had no idea why Brad felt the need to share such details with him.

"She's incredibly special, you know? I even wonder how I was lucky enough to catch her."

Scorpius had pondered that subject many a time.

"I don't pretend to understand your relationship, but your friendship means a great deal to her, so whatever it is you're holding against me, I hope we can move past it. I know she'd appreciate it if we got along," said Brad.

Scorpius resisted a gaffaw.

Either Brad was very shrewd, or he was a much more gracious person than Scorpius had thought him. He hoped it was the former, that way his continued hatred would feel even more just. Was he trying to weasel something of a confession out of Scorpius?

Or maybe he was hoping to use Scorpius as a way to quickly earn Rose's forgiveness.

Scorpius had never cared much for Brad. The man was much too keen to have everyone's approval, an attribute Scorpius disdained. What tolerance he had for Brad dipped when he took up with Rose three years prior- but following the proposal, Scorpius found it hard to recall one pleasant thing about him. If someone like Rose could manage to stand the bastard, he had to have at least one redeeming feature, and after thinking, Scorpius discovered it. He had clean fingernails. There! That was surely enough for karma's sake.

Looking at the shiny door, Scorpius could make out their reflections as they sat together. At first glance one might think the rivals friends.

What if they were friends? Wouldn't Rose appreciate it? Wouldn't Scorpius have more opportunities to sabotage Brad and leave him in a crying mess on the floor for others to mock?

Scorpius felt a bit ill. It was uncomfortable to come to terms with how deeply rooted and savage his feelings towards Brad had become.

The most ruthless part of him wanted to sabotage Brad in every way. He did not want to stop at just stealing Rose, but hurt Brad's reputation, and leave him gutted. He wanted revenge against the ponce for ever having taken Rose's time and attention.

He shook his head to rid himself of this dangerous territory of thought. He never considered himself spiteful- though he had been known as a bit harsh at times, he was nothing if not fair. He was not terribly fluent in underhanded dealings, only ever dabbling in them when necessary, for he had always regarded himself as above that. He was a pillar of virtue, compared to many of the Slytherins he knew.

Of course, being friendly with Brad could have other benefits, like research on how to get Rose to see all the faults in him Scorpius and Al did. He would finally end the hold Brad had on Rose's affections, and if Brad would suffer, so be it.

"Yes, she would appreciate us getting along," Scorpius finally conceded.

"I'm willing to try."

"And I'm willing... to look past your atrocious taste in architectural features."

Brad laughed.

"Yeah, it's not quite as classic as your tastes-"

"That's one way to put it," said Scorpius with a raised brow at the door.

"I suppose that's why you're the architect."

"I don't have any business cards with me, but feel free to floo my secretary. It needs an overhaul, if not for taste's sake, then for your neighbors'. I would have lodged a complaint years ago."

"You know, it's been over an hour," Brad said, deftly changing the subject. "Part of me is wondering if she's in there or not."

Scorpius turned his head to the side. A spark of thought burgeoned within him. Rose was not there at all... and he had a reasonably good idea of where to find her. The more he thought on it, the more he felt the need to leave immediately.

"Well, it seems there is nothing I can do to rectify this situation. I suppose I'm going to go home," he said, hoping Brad took no notice of his sudden inspiration. Brad didn't seem concerned, so Scorpius took his leave, doing his best to look unhurried. The moment the doors closed on the the elevator he apparated.

He was immediately in the familiar alleyway near Marylebone High Street. Of all the wizard inventions, how they had not managed to get better apparating points, he was unsure. The alley had the same long abandoned posters featuring bands he had never heard of, and long-forgotten flyers of past classes liberally lining its its brick walls. At one point people must have passed by this area quite often, but the foreclosed building at the end of the alley looked like it hadn't seen people in a decade. It was a shame, really, as it was built rather handsomely, and with a few spells and layers of paint, it would be a grande place for a business of some sort.

He walked fast as he could without gaining unwarranted attention, until coming to the dark blue doors of the museum.

"Malfoooy!" he heard a voice trill from inside. Vanessa, a plump genial woman called him from the desk. The bubbly woman had worked there ever since its opening, she told him some years ago. She seemed an odd fit for the quiet rooms of the small museum, especially as her trilling laugh would echo off the walls disturbing the guests. He fished in his pockets to pay her for admission. "Don't you try to pay us. You and Rose are in here often enough, it wouldn't be right to ask you to pay each time."

"Fine, but I swear I'll manage to pay you eventually," Scorpius said, re-pocketing a muggle bill. "Is Rose in her usual spot?"

"Oh yes! Same as usual," Vanessa said with a laugh. Scorpius gave her a nod of thanks, before making his way into the gallery. A few turns and flights of stairs, and he was able to see Rose's bright hair. She sat alone on her bench, firmly staring at the painting front of her. Her hand tried to sneakily remove a piece of chocolate from her purse. The purse crinkled in a way that made him suspect this was not her first piece of the day.

"I believe it's against the rules to bring in outside food or drink," said Scorpius, pointing to the sign above her head that said 'no outside food or drink.'

"It doesn't say anything about chocolate," she said pushing another chocolate into her mouth, and licking her fingers. She moved the purse, almost overflowing with wrappers, to the side. Whether she moved it to make room for him to sit, or to conceal how many chocolates she had eaten, he was not sure.

He silently sat on the proffered spot, though not without spelling away a pair of chocolate finger prints from the seat.

Rose continued to chew, a look of consternation wrinkling her brow. She had a bit of chocolate in the corner of her mouth.

"Here." He handed her a handkerchief. She wretched it from his hand and wrathfully swiped at her face.

"Are you all done depriving the greater Western Hemisphere of cocoa, or should I wait until we can roll you out the door?"

Rose scowled at him.

"You're not going to hex me into the wall like your fiance, are you?" he asked.

"I would never do that in a museum!" Rose replied, scandalized. "But once we're out of here, there are definitely no guarantees."

"Good to know. You should never warn your enemies, though," he replied, patting his wand.

"That's such a Slytherin thing to say!"

"And that's such a a Gryffindor response!" he mocked.

They sat in companionable silence, staring at Rose's favorite painting "La Belle Dame Sans Merci." Scorpius suspected she loved it because of the featured temptress who had hair every bit as red and wild as Rose's. Everything about it was like a person were in a mythical dream. The redheaded woman who held an otherworldly grace of temptation, the grande steed, the bright glow of the knight's armor; all of it created a picture one could get lost in. Rose attempted to get lost in it weekly, and sometimes more.

"O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, alone and palely loitering?" Rose recited.

"Besides having to put up with your wild temper, and a bad case of asthma, I'm doing fairly well," Scorpius laughed.

"It's from the poem the painting is based on, dimwit," said Rose.

"I knew that and was being ironic, swot."

"Who wrote the poem it's based on, prat?" she challenged.

"Keats, gasbag. I do occasionally listen when you go into your long speeches about paintings."

"You're on my good side again, then. Plus, I didn't feel like being a human thesaurus any longer. Want to get going?"

Scorpius acquiesced and they left the museum, Rose leading the way. With them, a good teasing argument usually settled any disagreement. The cool air gave Rose a lovely flush under her spattering of freckles. They walked in silence before Scorpius suddenly asked the question:

"Was there a particular reason you were so miffed at me, earlier? With Al and Brad it was fairly obvious, but me..."

Rose stopped at a window display and feigned interest in the vases there.

"So, was there a reason, or were you just exercising your right as a redhead to have a perilously short temper?"

"I was just a bit mad at you for escalating the argument with Brad, really," she said coolly. "All your annoying asides didn't help an already difficult situation."

"Ah, and here I thought you were jealous of my orgy with Lily and Mags," said Scorpius, demeanor calm.

Rose made a face and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

"You wouldn't do that," she stated firmly. Scorpius silently watched her reflection, eyebrow arched.

"Or at least Mags and Lily wouldn't do that. I'm still... unsure about your moral ambiguity."

"Hmm," he replied, seeing her flustered expression. "I must admit I can be very morally ambiguous. I suppose I'll just have to depend on you to rehabilitate me."

Scorpius then did something reckless. He was standing intimately close to her and took a curl from her forehead and pushed it to the side, his fingers grazing her pale brow. She seemed to hold her breath, but he could still smell the chocolate in it. Her blue eyes deepened, her delicate and inviting lips opened as her eyelids started to flutter shut. But suddenly Rose backed away with a great jerk and the spell was broken.

"Very funny, you dirty minded thing," she exclaimed, with an overdone laugh. "So! What were they doing in your apartment? Besides the 'orgy'— you can leave those details for someone who cares."

"They decided my wardrobe needed an update."

"I like your old clothes better."

"Lily sort of insisted—"

"Since when do you listen to anyone's advice on anything?"

Scorpius rolled his eyes. Rose always had an answer for everything, one of her traits that both annoyed and endeared her to him. In this case, though, she was chattering to keep him at bay.

"Well, perhaps this little experiment in fashion proves I am right in not listening to people's advice," he said. "But I do not want to argue about it anymore, Rose."

"Scorpius! Rose!" they heard from down the street.

They turned to see Lily bounding towards them. Scorpius supposed Al had told her about Rose's little street.

He was going to give a greeting when Lily pressed herself against him and kissed him. Had she been someone else, he imagined he would have greatly enjoyed such a kiss. It was far too long for propriety, and left him rather dazed as one of her hands snaked its way into his hair. After a few moments of her exploring his molars with her tongue she popped off of his face and gave him a sultry grin.

"Hullo, lover."

"Hi," he said with a great breath, trying not to pull a face.

"Hi..." Rose said in such a cantankerous way that Scorpius suddenly realized what had just transpired. Her expression looked somewhere between confusion, distaste and anger.

"So... What are you doing here?" Scorpius let out, his mind catching up to the situation as rapidly as it could. He would have to ask her to refrain from such kisses in the future as it muddled his brain.

"Brad Flooed me and told me what happened. We started looking in all the spots she might be, and I knew Rose comes here often enough. I'm not surprised you were the one to find her first. I definitely am going to give you another examination tonight."

Scorpius glanced between the two women, Lily giving him a rather convincing besotted look, and Rose giving an incredulous stare.

"Well," Scorpius swallowed, and calmed steadied himself before letting out the most stupid lie of his life.

"As you can see... Lily and I... We're involved."

"Involved," Rose repeated flatly.

"Wait a moment," Lily said before giving him a swat. "You haven't told her yet?"

"No," he said coming back to speed. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Rose. It just sort of ... happened."

"A few months ago, actually," Lily added. Albus was right. Lily was an incredibly adept liar, and continued to play her role perfectly. "With all the wedding plans he didn't want to distract from you and Brad, but I thought he must have told you by now."

Rose shook her head.

"No... No he didn't tell me a thing."

"We ok?" Scorpius asked, trying to look her in the eye.

She hesitated, then gave them a smile, never looking him in the eye.

"It's fine," she said. "Really, it is. There isn't always a time to say those kinds of things the way you want to. I guess that explains your taking her fashion advice."

"I'm glad you feel that way," Lily said breezily. "On another note, Brad is worried– and we need to do some tests on Scorpius to see what he's allergic to. Why don't you go back to your apartment and then we can figure out your flower arrangement?"

"Why don't we meet at your place, then Floo him, Lily?" Rose supplied. "We could apparate there right now, in fact. You've been to her place before, right Scorpius?"

Scorpius dumbly nodded. He had never been to Lily's home. He didn't even know if it was in London. Lily gave him a panicked look.

"Are you sure you want to come directly with us? Don't you want some alone time with Brad?" Lily asked.

"It's ok," Rose said, looking between Scorpius and Lily. "You two don't want alone time do you?"

Scorpius and Lily exchanged awkward glances.

"No no! There will plenty of time for us to be alone again when you're on your honeymoon," Lily supplied quickly. "But, uh, why don't you go ahead, and we'll meet you there. I have something private to tell him."

Rose made one of her faces. "Right... Well, see you there in a minute, then."

As she walked away, Lily gave her a little wave. Her other hand snaked into Scorpius' back pocket and gave it a squeeze that made him jump from her.

They could distantly hear Rose's apparation.

"Oh, God! She's going to my apartment! Why did you say you had been to my apartment?"

"I couldn't very well say I hadn't been to my girlfriend's place, could I?"

"Yes! Yes you could have! You won't know where any of my shit is, which will be a dead giveaway! Rose isn't stupid, remember?" Lily spat, clearly aggravated. "Are you sure you're a Slytherin? Because you are pathetic at this whole 'plotting' thing."

"I'm sorry, it's a bit hard to concentrate when your tongue is exploring my esophagus and your hand keeps grabbing my bum. Overkill much?".

"Ok, so I was a bit demonstrative. I'll try to hold back from making her jealous," Lily growled. "God, this is awkward as fuck."

"I agree with your sentiment," Scorpius said, giving her a look of distaste.

Lily rolled her eyes. "I could never date anyone so stuck up."

"Next time warn me before you touch me with that filthy mouth of yours," he said, leading the way to the Apparition point.

"Don't make me get those bouquets from the wedding, Asthma Boy!"

"Perhaps we can stick more to witty banter instead of wagging tongues, if you think you can manage."

"Fine. No more unexpected wagging-tongues. She'll get so jealous that you're arguing with me, instead of her, she'll dump Brad immediately," she said dryly.

"Well, at least warn me a bit. It befuddles the mind," he said. "And I need it to stay sharp for all the 'plotting' I'm so pathetic at."

"Let's just Apparate," she said holding his arm a bit too firmly.

Scorpius felt a squeeze around his chest. He hoped it was just due to the side-along apparition, and not nerves at having begun a farce that meant continually lying to his best and oldest friend.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[rachelkaser]

Stay Golden Sunday: Rose the Prude

Rose starts a new chapter of her life in her first starring episode, and Golden Girls has its first frank, serious discussion about our ladies’ sex lives.

Picture It...

Dorothy and Sophia are playing a game of gin rummy on the lanai, when Blanche comes out with a problem -- her date has unexpectedly invited his brother and she needs to find a fourth person to make it a double. She asks Dorothy (and gently rebuffs a willing Sophia), but Dorothy is determined to win a game of gin against her mother after 30 years of losses.

Rose comes out to the lanai, and Blanche immediately asks her to go on the double-date. Rose initially resists, as she’s lost interest in dating since her husband Charlie died 15 years ago, but relents when Blanche pleads. Rose complains that dating isn’t fun, whereas Dorothy will have fun beating her mother at cards. Sophia of course lays down a winning hand at that remark.

That night, Blanche returns from the date just as Dorothy takes another loss. At Blanche’s remark that playing gin obviously makes her upset, Dorothy refuses to play with Sophia anymore. Sophia knows that’s not going to last long.

SOPHIA: You’ll be back. You know why? You’re too competitive. It’s always been your worst feature. Actually, your ears are your worst feature. But competitive is right up there!

When a delighted Rose walks in, Dorothy asks how the date went, and Rose effuses that she had a great time with her beau Arnie. Blanche’s date, Jeffrey, turned out to be a bore. Rose is going on another date with Arnie, while Blanche has to be reminded that she knows many other more interesting men.

Later, the girls notice that Rose and Arnie (played by future recurring cast member Harold Gould) are becoming very close, but Rose is distressed. Arnie’s asked her to go away on a romantic cruise -- and Rose hasn’t been intimate with anyone since Charlie, her only lover, died. Dorothy and Blanche encourage her to go on the cruise, and give herself the chance.

Rose is a bundle of nerves in the stateroom, though Arnie tries to put her at ease by slow-dancing to Glenn Miller’s “Moonlight Serenade.” This brings back memories of Charlie, and Rose starts telling Arnie that he reminds her of Charlie. Arnie reminds her that he isn’t Charlie, and Rose says she likes him for who he is. But one kiss and Rose is running to the bathroom like a scared rabbit.

Back at home, the girls are speculating on how Rose is doing, and discuss how long it took them after their respective husbands died or left for them to get back on the wagon. Blanche made eyes at the minister performing her husband’s funeral service, though the consummation left something to be desired. Dorothy hooked up with her divorce lawyer, and comments that it was a terrible time for her. To demonstrate to Blanche how the ravages of age take their toll, she tells her to lean over a mirror and look at her own face. Blanche is suitably horrified.

The next morning, Rose apologizes to Arnie for chickening out. Arnie understands and relates his own struggles with grief after his wife Molly died. He eventually got on with his life when his daughter pointed out that’s what Molly would have wanted. Rose concedes Charlie would probably want the same for her. Arnie tells her he’s alright with whatever makes her comfortable, and she tentatively asks him to hold her.

Meanwhile, Sophia admits to Dorothy she never played gin for the game, but because she likes the conversation they have while they play. Rose returns, Blanche and Sophia want to interrogate her on whether she fooled around, but it’s Dorothy who breaks first and asks her outright. Rose plays coy, but then reveals they did -- and she’s overjoyed that she can move on to the next part of her romantic life. The episode ends with Dorothy and Sophia playing cards, swapping stories.

“Oh back off, Blanche. Not all of us are classified by the Navy as a friendly port.”

After Blanche and Dorothy had their own spotlight episodes, it’s time for Rose to have her moment in the sun. GG does this neat little trick of assigning subject matter to the character who, at the surface, doesn’t necessarily seem best suited to it -- and then making it work anyway. So it’s fitting that the first episode that seriously addresses sex is a Rose-centric episode.

One of the things Golden Girls has always been (rightly) lauded for is the way it handles sexual and romantic topics, especially as they pertain to seniors. After all, your life doesn’t end just because you get old, or are widowed, and this show handles that with grace and honesty. Well, with Blanche the “grace” part is questionable, but you take my meaning.

While later revelations show that Rose might be far more experienced than Blanche given how close she and Charlie were (and, according to Betty White, Rue McClanahan enjoyed pointing that out behind the scenes), the first impression she’s given on the show is rather chaste compared to Blanche. Add in that she’s also a widow, and it makes her the perfect candidate for an episode about putting yourself back out there and moving on with your life.

If there’s one thing about this episode that looks especially pleasant through a modern lens, it’s the gentle way both the girls and Arnie talk to Rose about her sex life (Blanche’s shock over her 15-year dry spell notwithstanding). Dorothy doesn’t tell her to sleep with Arnie, but to go on the cruise and at least give herself the option -- she can always back out if the situation isn’t right. And they outright cheer for her when she confirms she did play “find the cannoli.” The show offers many examples of how a healthy, supportive friendship should work, and this is one of the first and strongest.

Arnie, for his part, is a total gentleman: He doesn’t push Rose, does his best to make her comfortable, and sympathizes with her feelings for her late husband. In short, he behaves exactly the way Rose needs her paramour to behave if she’s going to get her groove back on her terms. It’s kind of wonderful to watch, even if one does cringe at Arnie saying he “patted a few bottoms” while married. 80s mentality, Rachel, 80s mentality.

This is the first time the show has had a B-plot to keep the non-spotlight characters busy. Blanche serves her part in the A-plot, the one about Rose and Arnie, by setting it in motion. This leaves Sophia and Dorothy without much to do, so they have their own story centering around their longstanding rummy rivalry.

This is the episode where Sophia first gets to show her teeth – you can definitely see where Dorothy gets her’s from. Up to now she’s been a sort of caustic side character who existed to puncture dramatic moments with a comment she didn’t realize was too blunt. Here we get our first real glimpse of her as the witty, clever, somewhat devious woman we all know and love.

The timing is a little bit wonky, as they keep repeating throughout the episode that Rose has been a widow for 15 years, while the other girls’ marriages have only been over for a few years. Given Rose is roughly Dorothy’s age, she either married around the same age as Dorothy (not likely) or her marriage was much shorter than she’s led anyone to believe, but at the beginning she says she a “long and happy marriage.” But that’s a relatively minor quibble, even for me.

Episode rating: Three cheesecakes out of five... maybe I can make emoji work? 🍰🍰🍰

Favorite Part of the Episode

DOROTHY: Only on your back, Blanche. That way everything slides back and you look like you just had a facelift. BLANCHE: (leaning back and looking up at her mirror) Oh, you’re right. I’m gorgeous. I’m going to have to meet men lying down. SOPHIA: I thought you did.

[one-of-us-blog]

Little Sister (TGG, Season 4, Episode 21)

Today Eli is forced to watch and recap Little Sister, Episode 21 of the fourth season of The Golden Girls.  When Rose is visited by her less-than-beloved little sister and Sophia is visited by the lovable pooch Dreyfuss, things don’t go exactly as planned.  Can Rose withstand the betrayal of a backstabbing sibling?  Can Sophia contend with the responsibilities of dogsitting?  Keep reading to find out…

Jon, I would have posted my recap yesterday, but when I attempted to upload it to the web I logged on to a neighbor’s wi-fi signal, and soon found myself trapped within a cyberprison of some sort.  Since that is one of the well-known dangers of using wi-fi (as everyone knows), I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was.  Nevertheless, I’m no jockey, so it took me a while to jack out before I got geeked.  I was very pleasantly surprised to learn upon my return to the fleshworld that your recap of The Bells of Saint John was so good!  I agree that the plot is pretty silly, so I’m not going to go out of my way defending this episode.  Hopefully you’ll enjoy Jenna Coleman’s time in the TARDIS enough to make up for some questionable plots.  At any rate, keep up the great work!  For now, I have my own episode to cover, so let’s head to Miami!

Buttocks tight!

Episode written by Christopher Lloyd, directed by Terry Hughes

As the episode opens, Dorothy is lounging on the couch with a sad expression on her face, when she is joined unexpectedly by Dreyfuss the dog.  Oh boy, we have another Empty Nest crossover on our hands!  Sophia tells her daughter that she agreed to dog sit for a while, but Dorothy isn’t happy about this development.  She doesn’t believe her mother can be trusted with the responsibility.  Not to be denied, Sophia employs a guilt trip until Dorothy relents.  Still, Dreyfuss will be Sophia’s responsibility entirely.  Blanche is escorted home by a gentleman (we’ll assume for now), and bids farewell to Gary the funeral home owner.  Rose also returns home, with the news that her little sister Holly is coming for a visit.  Unfortunately, this isn’t exactly welcome news, and Rose is pretty wound up about it.  She even employs some of Dorothy’s signature sarcasm against her.  Basically, she hates her little sister.  When Holly does show up, however, she introduces herself with compliments and makes a great impression on everyone else.

We jump ahead in time a bit, and Sophia is searching the kitchen for Dreyfuss.  She has no idea where he is, and she needs Blanche to help her out.  Dorothy can’t know about this, however, or she’ll never trust Sophia again.  Meanwhile, in the living room, Gary returns to drop off Blanche’s earrings, but he takes a moment alone with Rose to make a move on her.  Rose tells him off just before Blanche walks in, oblivious to Gary’s wandering eye (and groin).  Gary departs, and Blanche lets Rose know that she really likes Holly.  In fact, the two of them went to dinner together near Rose’s workplace.  When Rose wonders why she wasn’t invited, she learns that Holly claims to have attempted to call her unsuccessfully.  Just then, Dorothy returns from a shopping trip with Holly, and the two are having a great time.  Heck, Dorothy even likes Holly’s St. Olaf stories!  The betrayal!  They also mention that they picked up tickets to the theatre, but once again Rose was left out (due to an innocent mistake, of course).  What is Holly playing at here?

Next, Sophia returns home with a duplicate Dreyfuss that she picked up from the pet store, as the real Dreyfuss is still at large.  Or is he?  Blanche reveals that Dreyfuss came home, and now Sophia is stuck with two dogs.  She can’t take the other pooch back to the pet store for a few days, so when she hears Dorothy nearby, she hurriedly hides both dogs in her room.  Unfortunately, she didn’t consider the fact that she will now be unable to tell them apart.  Rose is mad, because Holly gave her incorrect directions for lunch, and is certain that Holly is doing these things intentionally.  Dorothy and Blanche think she’s being paranoid, and that she needs to realize how great her sister is.  Oh, by the way, Holly also left her out of movie plans.  Oops.  Left alone for the moment, Rose opens the door to the living room and catches her sister canoodling with Gary on the couch.

The girls are eating late that night, and Rose needs to have a talk with them about Holly.  Dorothy and Blanche get mad and tell her to leave them out of her crusade against her sister.  Sophia, however, gets the info out of her and gives Rose some advice.  Basically, Holly’s true nature will surface sooner or later, so she should let the other girls learn about it themselves.  Surprisingly, Sophia needs some advice too.  She takes Rose to the garage to show her the two dogs, and asks her how she’ll be able to tell which one is Dreyfuss.  Rose prepares herself, and utilizes an old farm technique: she calls Dreyfuss by his name, and he immediately runs to her.  Problem solved, right?

It isn’t long before we learn that Gary has cancelled a date with Blanche, giving her a story about his mother’s emergency gall bladder surgery.  However, as she is sitting on the couch with Dorothy, Dreyfuss emerges from the direction of the bedrooms with a pair of pants in his mouth.  Apparently, Holly has some company.  We know where this is all headed: Gary shows himself, and Blanche gets pissed.  Rose walks in the front door just as everything is hitting the fan, and she takes Holly into the kitchen for a talking to from her big sister.  Meanwhile, Dreyfuss (or somedoggy) chases Gary out the front door…but he’s keeping the pants.

Holly tells Rose that she’s going to leave, but Rose wants an explanation.  Why does Holly keep doing these things?  Holly throws out a line about never being as good as her big sister who has lots of friends, but that isn’t good enough for Rose.  She tells Holly that she needs to stop using other people and looking out only for herself.  They may be sisters, but they don’t have to be friends.  She would like to be friends someday, but at this point Holly will have to make the first gesture.  She tells her little sister goodbye, and that’s that.  Returning to the living room, Dorothy and Blanche tell her that they are sorry for not believing her sooner.  To wrap things up, Sophia is ready to take Dreyfuss home.  Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to be responding to his name.  Oh boy.  Maybe they can swing by the pet store on the way…

The End.

I wasn’t sure how I would feel at first, but I actually really liked this episode.  It was consistently funny, and this even worked for me as a crossover that didn’t feel forced; then again, I’m a sucker for a good dog-centric episode (and some helpful farm wisdom).  It was frustrating to see Dorothy and Blanche not sticking up for their friend or acknowledging her perspective, but I thought the ending made up for this.  It would have been predictable for Holly to have a change of heart and for the sisters to make up, but I actually appreciated that Rose did what she had to for her own well-being and let Holly go.  We are bound to encounter people who are toxic to our lives, and sometimes it’s hard to accept that cutting them loose is the only healthy way to move forward, as much as it might hurt.  Anyway, I hope the right dog makes its way back to Dr. Harry Weston.  I give Little Sister a score of 4 poofy hairdos out of 5.

Check back in soon, when Jon will be reviewing The Rings of Akhaten, the next episode of Doctor Who, and I’ll be back in a few days with my take on Sophia’s Choice, the next episode of The Golden Girls.  Until then, as always, thank you for being a friend, and for being One of Us!