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legends-of-time · 8 months ago

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The Journey of Living at Downton

Chapter 49: August 1925

Masterlist

TW: depictions and discussions of suicide. In no way am I an expert in this matter. I tried to write it the best I could.

——

Emma quietly hums as she rocks and pats the baby in her arms after the early morning feed. Her son gurgles up at Emma as she cradles him in her arms. Emma beams at him, unable to take her eyes off him, eager to watch every action of the month-old baby.

Thankfully Patrick Owen Branson's birth had gone smoothly. After recovering from the shock of labour starting, Tom had quickly snapped into action and called for help to assist Emma up the stairs from the servant area. Thomas had swiftly appeared and the two of them got Emma up the stairs and into the car that still sat outside. After that, the birth happened quickly with Emma having the urge to push soon after they arrived at the Hospital.

Sybbie had turned 5 just over a few weeks later and happily carried around her Auntie Emma and Uncle Tom's new baby with her father anxiously following her, worried about her dropping him. Ivy has taken the role of older sister very seriously when it comes to Patrick while Michael has very little interest in his little sibling as he can't play with him so he happily runs after Teo, Robert's new puppy from Violet.

Mary is still down after what had happened at the races and with Henry. Despite her insistence that she is fine, Emma can see that she has withdrawn slightly and is not laughing as much though holding baby Patrick does bring out warm smiles from her.

Edith is also feeling a mixture of emotions. She had quietly confessed to Emma that Bertie had proposed when they had been up in London but she has not said yes yet as she hasn't confessed to him who Marigold really is. Emma hopes she'll tell him soon as she really doesn't want another Mary and Matthew situation when Matthew proposed the first time.

Rosamund has also come to stay, apparently because of a cold though Emma has her suspicions that she's hear because of Edith. Not that Emma would complain, she likes Rosamund and Edith is quite close with her aunt so it only makes sense she would have her support.

Not everyone is down in the dumps. Mr Molesley had done well in his exam and has been offered a teaching position at the local School where he'll be doing a couple of lessons a week. Whereas Mrs Patmore's new house in Houghton-Le-Skerne, a little to the north of Downton, on the border with County Durham, has already received its first guests in its function as a bed and breakfast.

——

"A house of ill repute." Emma splutters, trying not to laugh but horrendously failing.

Mary sniggers. "That's what Anna said. Of course we all feel sorry for her."

The two look at each other, trying to keep a straight face before they both splutter with laughter again as they cross the Great Hall to enter the Drawing room.

Mary had told her what Anna had told her. Sargent Willis had come round (again) to inform Mrs Patmore that her first guest had not been as respectable as she first thought. A Mr Ian McKidd and a Mrs Dorris had decided to use Mrs Patmore's bed and breakfast as a little hideaway as they ran from Mrs Dorrit's husband who's suing Mr. McKidd for damages related to adultery leading to Mrs Patmore's bed and breakfast gaining the label of a site of a house of ill repute.

Emma sniggers out a laugh as she recalls Anna's hilarious description of a shocked Mrs Patmore. Oh dear, of all the people it should happen to, it had to be the naïve and innocent cook.

Emma stops Mary at the door to the Drawing room. "Now, I know you can't help yourself, but we need to be sombre for Edith's sake, alright?"

Bertie's cousin, Peter Pelham, 6th Marquess of Hexham, had died from malaria while travelling in Tangiers late last month. This only just puts another level of strain on Bertie's proposal to Edith no doubt.

Mary rolls her eyes and huffs, "Who cares? He probably won't have a job now, my romance might not be the only one to come to an untimely end."

"Exactly what I mean, keep your gleefulness to yourself." Emma retorts as they enter the room.

——

They all have assembled ahead of dinner with the addition of Isobel. The only one missing is Edith. The mood is rather subdued.

"Poor Mr Pelham. First that terrible day at the race track, and then to hear his cousin's died." Cora says.

"It does seem very hard." Isobel agrees.

Edith walks in. Robert and Billy rise to stand next to Tom who already stands next to the settee that Emma sits on along with Cora and Mary.

"Did you get hold of him?" Emma asks her, concerned.

"Yes. He's coming tomorrow, on the first leg of his trip to Tangiers. I've asked him here." Edith replies as she moves to stand in front of them all.

"Good." Cora agrees.

"How is he?" Billy asks, concerned.

"Sad." Edith sighs. "He loved his cousin, and it was all so quick. The trouble is they've already buried him. Bertie's not sure what to do."

"Well, that's ordinary in hot countries. It won't mean any disrespect." Isobel reassures her.

"No. But should they leave him there?"

"Surely that decision is down to the new Marquess, not to Bertie?" Mary asks, her tone isn't kind, more irritated.

"Well, that's the thing. He is the new Marquess. Bertie."

There's an astonished silence after Edith's announcement as they take in the news. Emma watches in concern as Mary's face morphs from smugness to annoyed disbelief.

"Bertie Pelham is now the Marquess of Hexham?" Robert asks in a tone of utter disbelief though not out of unkindness, more shock.

"Yes."

"Nonsense. He's having you on. He'd have told you if he was the heir." Mary remarks, almost ready to laugh at the whole situation.

But Edith remains serious and cool. "He did tell me. But his cousin was in his thirties, and they all knew the girl he was going to marry."

"But that's absurd! If Bertie's a marquess, then Edith–"

"Edith would outrank us all. Yes. That's right." Robert says, interrupting Mary and starting to laugh at the whole situation.

Rosamund and Isobel join in his laugh, but Cora and Mary, like Emma, don't, though she knows Cora's reasons are more like Emma's than Mary's.

"Was he a close relation?" Emma cuts in, still surprised as well as concerned. If Edith was unsure about accepting Bertie because of Marigold, what'll this do to the situation?

"Second cousin, once removed. Nobody thought it was possible he would ever inherit. Least of all Bertie." Edith replies.

"Well, he seemed like a nice young man to me." Isobel remarks.

"And getting nicer by the minute." Rosamund quips mischievously causing her and Isobel to let out another giggle. They're having such fun over this.

"With a real love of Brancaster." Tom adds.

"Golly gum drops! What a turn-up!" Robert says gleefully.

The door opens to emit Mr Carson.

Cora takes the cue. "That's dinner." She rises to her feet. "If we're not too distracted to eat."

Isobel, Rosamund, Billy, Robert and Edith walk out first. Cora, Emma, Tom and Mary hang back.

"So we'll all bow and curtsy to Edith. You'll enjoy that, Mary." Tom quips at the disgruntled sister.

"Hardly." Mary scoffs dismissively. "And if Bertie is Lord Hexham, which I still don't believe, he won't want to marry her now."

"Careful, or people will think you're jealous, dear. We don't want that." Cora says gravely as they all file out past Mr Carson.

Emma can't but feel this'll end badly.

——

They're at their after-dinner coffee in the drawing room. Only Robert has gone to bed early again. Cora, Rosamund, Isobel and Edith sit chatting together, laughing. Emma overhears mention of poor Mrs Patmore's situation but she is absorbed in her own private conversation with Tom, Billy and Mary.

"I had a call from Henry earlier." Tom remarks.

Mary looks startled but asks softly, "Henry? Why didn't you say?"

"He's saying it now." Emma says.

"How is he?" Mary asks anxiously.

"Mourning Charlie Rogers. Missing you." Tom answers.

"You're not to ask him to come here." Mary warns him sternly.

"Suppose he just turns up?" Billy remarks, trying and failing to be subtle about it. Emma narrows her eyes at her friend.

"Don't encourage him, Billy. None of you should. I mean it. We'd be wretched long term." Mary declares.

"And you're not wretched now?" Billy asks.

Mary sighs and moves away.

"She's right about one thing, you can't encourage him." Emma says to the two men next to her.

"But you see how sad she's been." Tom argues. "I think Henry needs to come."

"I don't know..."

"Oh, come on Emma." Billy scoffs. "She just needs to see him, to realise maybe she shouldn't have ended things with him."

Emma grimaces. "I just know it'll end badly."

"How?" Her husband questions.

"This is Mary we're talking about. She doesn't like her hand being forced and asking Henry to come will rile her up further than she is already with the Bertie situation." Emma explains her thinking. "She needs to come round to it in her own time."

"You don't know that." Billy says.

Emma rather thinks she does.

——

The next morning, Emma sits on one of the red settees across from Rosamund, who's flicking through a magazine, while Robert is writing at his desk, cradling Patrick in her arms as he has a quiet snooze.

They had received good news the day before, Daisy passed every paper she had taken with high marks. Emma remembers the little girl (one she had always found quite irritating) and is amazed to see her progress.

Cora comes in. "Where is everybody?"

"Mary and Tom are agenting, Billy's at work and Edith's gone to meet Bertie's train." Emma replies as Cora moves to sit next to her, reaching over to softly stroke Patrick's cheek. "I've just come back from being outside with the children. Apparently there was some important bug excavation needing to be done in the grounds."

This causes the adults to all chuckle.

Rosamund is the first to sober up. "Are we going to talk about it? Are we really going to sit by and let this young man's family and future be put at risk from a scandal we are hiding from him?"

"I don't think she has to tell everybody, but I agree. She must tell him. Then it's his choice." Cora answers.

"I agree." Emma declares. "This is the sort of thing you really should not keep secret from your spouse."

"Isn't it up to Edith?" Robert argues.

"From what I've learnt, we really shouldn't leave it up to your daughters." Emma retorts.

Robert looks affronted at this and goes to reply but Rosamund cuts him off, "Robert is scared of Edith loosing a marriage worthy of the name because after Tony Gillingham had gone, he thought none of his daughters would make a marriage worthy of the name. Now there's a chance of one, and he can't bring himself to give it up!"

"You haven't got children. You don't understand these things." Robert retorts dismissively.

"No. I haven't had children, Robert, as you so kindly remind me, but I hope I do have a sense of decency." Rosamund cries angrily.

"How long are you planning to stay? Your cold must have cleared by now." Robert counters. Christ, the two are like children.

"Don't fight. Nothing's going to get better by you two falling out." Cora says in a sharp whisper as the door to the Library opens emitting Edith and Bertie, who walk in through the Small Library. The others rise to greet them.

Cora approaches them first. "Hello, Mr Pelham. I mean..."

"I'm going to stay Mr Pelham until the service." Bertie says, saving her the embarrassment. "But I wish you'd call me Bertie, anyway."

"Of course, hello Bertie." Emma greets warmly. "I don't believe you've met Patrick?"

"Er no." He accepts the baby, rocking him slightly and looking softly down at Patrick, who's just woken, staring at the unknown person in wonder.

"What sort of service will it be?" Robert asks.

"Not a funeral. I've decided not to disturb him." Bertie says, sounding almost choked up. Emma smiles softly as her son reaches and clasps Bertie's finger in a tight grip as if to comfort him. "I'll fetch his things and settle his debts and have a service at home to say goodbye."

"That sounds like a very good plan." Cora says.

"I hope you'll allow me to come." Edith says.

"I want you to come." Bertie says simultaneously warm and desperate.

"You remember my sister?" Robert indicates to Rosamund.

Emma takes Patrick from him so he can greet Edith's aunt properly.

Bertie walks towards the woman. "Of course. Lady Rosamund."

"This must be a strange and unsettling time for you." Rosamund says sympathetically.

"I'll say. My mother's cock-a-hoop," Bertie remarks, "but she doesn't appreciate that I was devoted to Cousin Peter."

"I'm sure she does." Cora assures him.

"Not really. Most people didn't get the point of him. He was... so delicate. But he was as kind to me as any man has ever been."

"Then how pleased he'd be to know that you're his heir." Emma says softly.

"That's so nice of you." Bertie's voice cracks as he begins crying in earnest. Edith puts a comforting hand on his arm. "Goodness. I'm afraid you've made me blub."

"Let me take you upstairs to unpack. Luncheon's not for half an hour." Edith tells him. They walk past the others and out by the other door.

Rosamund, deeply moved, turns to Robert. "And that's the man you want to trick into marriage?"

Robert lets out a huff. "I'm going for a walk." He walks out the other way.

"I agree." Cora says. "But Robert thinks Edith's had so little luck in her life."

"He can't be serious!" Emma scoffs. "Doesn't he know that she'll never be happy with such a secret dangling over her?"

"Exactly. We all know she's making a mistake." Rosamund says.

——

Bertie is more together by the time they all sit down for luncheon, attended by Mr Carson, Thomas, Mr Molesley and Andy. Isobel has joined them and Mary and Tom have returned from their agenting while Billy is still at work though had called earlier to see how Bertie is to which Emma could only tell him that he's in a bad way over his cousin.

"What was it about Tangiers that your cousin enjoyed so much?" Isobel asks Bertie as he sits next to her.

"Who knows?" Bertie replies. "He used to talk of going down to the beach and watching the young fishermen bring in the nets. How the setting sun would make the scene magical until everything was suddenly plunged into darkness."

"Goodness. How... lyrical."

"He was lyrical. He was an artist. In his heart, anyway." Bertie says with a small soft smile.

Emma grins. "I like the sound of him."

"I don't think this family can boast much in the way of artists. Although we did have an aunt who was quite good at macramé." Robert quips. Everyone chuckles politely.

Mary, however, doesn't and speaks up, after having stared at Bertie the whole time with an odd look on her face that's been unnerving Emma, "So, are you here to settle things with Edith before you leave?"

This startles everyone. Everyone either gives shocked looks or frowns in Mary's direction for her being so indelicate. Emma is in the latter category.

"Mary, please." Cora reprimands, astonished.

This doesn't deter Bertie. "I hope so. I hope we can get things settled, but I mustn't jump the gun." He gives Edith a hopeful smile.

"So, Bertie, you mentioned your mother, but what other family do you have?" Emma asks, happy to deter the conversation.

"That's it. My father's dead, obviously, there are no siblings. It's just me and Mother." Bertie answers.

"You were joking when you said she was cock-a-hoop, but she must feel a certain pride." Cora says.

"I wasn't joking," Bertie dissuades, "but judge for yourselves when you meet her."

"You talk as if we should be scared of her." Tom remarks.

"She makes Mr Squeers look like Florence Nightingale." Bertie quips. Everyone chuckles a little awkwardly. Edith looks rather alarmed. Oh, dear.

——

Later in the day, they're all gathered in the Library for tea and a puppet show. Tom and Bertie sit behind the booth and operate the puppets, one of whom is a Punch character who is whacking another character, a Policeman, with a slapstick. Billy, Mary, Emma and Edith as well as Ivy, Michael, Sybbie, George and Marigold sit lined up on low stools in front of the booth to watch the show. Nanny Jean is in the background while the other Nanny, Margaret, is in the Nursery with Patrick as he naps. Robert, Cora and Rosamund are watching from the red settees.

"Take that! And that!" Tom as Punch, in a weird, high-pitched voice cries.

"Ow!" Bertie cries as the Policeman.

"Punch is terribly fierce. I don't think he's a good model for marriage in later life." Mary remarks.

"Or relations with the law." Robert says with a chuckle.

"Take that! And that! And that!" Tom says as Punch, still dealing out blows.

"Ouch, you rascal!" Bertie's Policeman retorts.

"And that's the way to do it!" Tom makes Punch bow, and the show is over. Everyone claps and laughs.

"Very good!" Billy compliments.

"Whoo, Daddy!" Ivy cheers.

Emma laughs. To think that she herself had watched a couple of Punch and Judy shows when she was a child, over 80 years in the future, and here her children are, in the past, watching a similar show. Funny how life works and things last.

Emma then hears Mr Carson clear his throat. "Er, Mr Talbot."

Wait what?

Emma turns around just as Mary does, both in surprise and alarm. There Henry Talbot is, trailing after the butler as they both come through the Small Library.

Cora rises to greet their guest. "Hello, Mr Talbot. Mary never told me you were coming."

"I didn't know he was." Comes Mary's reply.

Neither did Emma. She gives a sharp look to both Tom and Billy, who both avoid her gaze.

Henry stays near the exit, unsure of his welcome. Mary hasn't got up from her seat. "Well, the thing is, I was driving down from Durham and I suddenly realised I'd almost be passing the gates."

How convenient...

"What were you doing in Durham?" Rosamund asks, still seated and Robert walks up to Henry.

"Oh, I was doing various car things."

"We haven't seen you since that awful day at Brooklands. I hope you're coping with it all." Robert says.

"Well, one doesn't have much choice."

Mary approaches Tom and Billy with Emma trailing after her. "Did you two know about this?" She hisses in an accusing undertone.

"I might have said that if he was coming from Durham, then he'd be driving quite close." Tom says casually.

"Don't think I'm amused! I dislike my hand being forced." Mary retorts.

"Which is exactly what I told them." Emma quips.

"No one's forcing anything." Billy argues.

"Now you're here, I hope you'll stay the night at least." Cora says to Henry, drawing their attention back to the wider conversation.

"Mary?" Henry prompts hopefully.

"Perhaps Mr Talbot is in a hurry to get home?" Mary replies coolly.

"No, no I'm not."

"It's settled then. Carson, will you please tell Mrs Hughes? And ask someone to unpack for Mr Talbot." Cora instructs. Mr Carson sketches a bow and leaves.

Emma in the meantime helps Billy and Edith as they direct the children to Nanny. It's clearly best that they evacuate the area.

"I'm afraid you've missed tea." Robert says.

"Oh, don't worry about that." Henry dismisses.

"I won't." Mary retorts, forcing a cold smile. Mary sits down on one of the red settees, pretending to be interested in a magazine.

While Henry approaches Bertie, Emma turns to Tom. "Pretty sure you and Billy have allowed Henry to make a bad miscalculation." She says as she watches how Mary is still pretending to read her magazine, but she's so nervous and upset that she opens and closes her hands convulsively, which is something they rarely see.

"Don't say that." Tom murmurs.

——

Mary comes walking up the staircase, followed by Tom and Emma.

"This is so precisely not the way to win me over!" Mary snaps.

"Mary, will you just get off your high horse?" Tom retorts as they come to a stop on the landing.

Emma winces that. She'd made the executive decision not to say anything, not wanting Mary's anger to be misplaced towards her, Emma who hadn't done anything.

Mary turns back to him angrily. "Why are you interfering?"

"Because I love you and I want you to be happy."

"Well, you've got a bloody odd way of showing it!" Mary hisses.

"Well, I take it this is me you're fighting about?" Emma turns to see Henry catching up with them.

"Yes, it is. And you can dig yourself out. Because I've had enough." Emma huffs. "With all of you."

Mary scoffs as Emma and Tom walk away, leaving her and Henry alone.

"I told you this wouldn't work." Emma murmurs to her husband.

"You're not helping!" Tom huffs.

——

Robert stands chatting to Bertie near the fireplace in the Drawing room after dinner. "How are you getting to Tangiers? Is there a boat that sails direct?"

"Actually, I'm flying. For the first bit, anyway." Bertie tells him.

Emma perks up in interest at that from where she sits in one of the chairs next to them.

"What?" Robert exclaims incredulously.

Bertie chuckles. "I know. It does seem rather daring."

"And impressive." Emma grins. She knows travel by air in this time is still rather new compared to her time.

"I do not envy you." Rosamund comments from where she sits in an armchair opposite.

"I don't know. Now the commercial airlines are starting to operate, I dare say we'll all be flying hither and thither before too long." Robert remarks.

"I rather doubt that." Rosamund says with a laugh.

Emma watches this all amusedly. "Well, I do. It's quicker and more efficient. People will want that."

On the other side of the room, Billy and Mary are having a conversation of their own. It clearly doesn't end well as Mary's then marching to the door in a huff. Henry walks out after her. Emma watches after them, worried.

——

Emma is giving Patrick the morning feed in the Nursery the next morning. The children are out with the Nannies so Emma has the room to herself for a short while.

Emma is just burping him when the quiet is disrupted by Tom angrily storming in. "I can't believe her!"

Emma helps Patrick do one last belch before pleasing him back in his cot and turns to her husband, "Tom? What's happened?"

"It's Mary. She forced Edith to tell Bertie about Marigold and now he's stormed off." Tom explains, trying to calm down but still breathing heavily out of anger.

Emma's jaw drops. "What?! Why?!"

"Henry's gone. It's all my fault, I should've stopped them from announcing it."

"Announcing what?"

"Edith has said yes to Bertie." Tom explains.

Well, that explains it all.

Emma sighs, coming over to stroke his upper arms. "It's not your fault. This is Mary we're talking about. Edith is happy, she isn't, so she's decided to be horrible."

"I know but I knew, I knew she was suspicious of Marigold. And I invited Henry over. I should've handled it better." Tom grumbles.

Emma presses her lips together, knowing any comments right now will not be helpful.

——

It's gotten worse, Bertie has now asked to be taken to the station. At the front door, a car stands ready with Andy in attendance. Emma stands with Robert and Tom as they wait for Bertie to get in, but he's walked a little way off into the park with Edith.

Tom checks his wristwatch and sighs. "He'll miss his train."

"Let him miss it. He can catch the next one." Robert remarks. "What happened?"

"Apparently, Mary forced Edith to tell him about Marigold." Emma tells him.

"I wouldn't say forced." Tom argues.

Emma rolls her eyes. "It sounds like it to me."

"How did Mary find out?" Robert questions.

"Mary is not stupid." Tom replies.

"No. And she's not always kind, either. Was it really a mistake?"

"What difference does it make?"

They carry on watching Edith and Bertie. Emma wishes it was the opposite but she doesn't blame Bertie for being upset for not being told about Marigold. It isn't long before Bertie touches his hat and moves away, leaving Edith behind.

——

Mary sits in the Estate Agent's office, waiting for Tom to start their day's work. Emma walks in with a face like a thundercloud.

Mary frowns when she sees her. "Where's Tom?"

"Trying to clean up the mess you made, but don't worry, he's failed. Bertie has left for the train, and now Edith won't be the next Marchioness of Hexham." Emma replies hotly.

Mary shrugs calmly. "Well, that's not what I wanted."

Emma narrows her eyes and scoffs. "Isn't it?"

"I still can't believe she'd never told him. How was I to know that?" Mary responds, cool as a cucumber.

"Don't play the innocent with me." Emma warns her. "You should know better."

"I didn't mean it—"

"Don't lie!" Emma shouts at her. "Not to me! You can't stop ruining things! For Edith, for yourself! God, you're a literal child who sees their sibling has a shiny new toy. You'd pull in the sky if you could! Anything to make you feel less frightened and alone!"

"You saw Henry when he was here, high-handed, bullying, unapologetic. Am I expected to lower myself to his level and be grateful I'm allowed to do so? Tom and Billy brought him here. Why are you not yelling at them?" Mary retorts, no longer acting cool and working herself up into quite a passion now.

"Trust me, they've already had a telling off but only because they really should've known what you're like. I mean, just listen to yourself. 'Lower yourself to his level'. You're not a princess in The Prisoner of Zenda!" Emma cries in disbelief.

"I thought you of all people would understand me but you're just like the rest of them." Mary snaps.

"The amount of times I've stood by you, defended you but you've taken it too far!" Emma yells again. "You ruined Edith's life today! How many lives are you going to wreck just to smother your own misery?"

"I refuse to listen!" Mary says furiously, getting up from her chair.

She tries to leave but Emma doesn't move out of her way. Instead, she stares directly into Mary's eyes and calmly states, "You're a coward, Mary. Like all bullies, you're a coward." She marches out having hopefully given Mary a lot to think about.

——

"Christ, I can't– she– urggghhh!" Emma cries, unable to form proper sentences with how angry and frustrated she is. She paces her and Tom's room while her husband sits on the bench at the end of their bed.

"I'm glad you talked to her. I might've throttled her." Tom remarks.

"Don't put yourself down, I was quite close to it myself." Emma huffs. "What are we going to do?"

"I know a way we can sort this. At least partly." Tom tells her.

"How?"

"Violet."

Emma frowns. "Tom, she's somewhere in France. We have no way of contacting her."

"Well, actually. I do." Tom admits.

"Heh?"

He goes to the tallboy in the corner of their room, opens a drawer and pulls out a letter. "She wrote to me. I received it shortly after she'd gone."

He hands it to Emma and she takes it, reading it to see Violet genuinely had written to Tom, detailing where to contact her if need be. Emma grins.

"Why you're smiling?" Tom questions, slightly amused.

"It's funny. She clearly trusts you and to think how to her you were this odd foreigner to her once." Emma remarks.

"'Suppose. But we need to do this quickly." Tom says.

"The nannies usually take the children outside soon. What if we abscond ours and have a trip to the Village. What do you say Mr Branson?" Emma smirks at him.

Tom returns her smirk. "Why Mrs Branson, how clever you are."

——

Emma and Tom are walking through the Village, Emma walks next to Tom as he pushes along Patrick's pram with a letter in hand to drop off at the Post Office. Ivy and Michael are running about just ahead when Miss Baxter, who was rushing past, comes to a sudden stop.

The lady's maid is panting heavily with wide panicked eyes. "Mrs Branson, Emma, you need to come quickly."

"What's happened?" Emma questions, worried for the woman. Ivy and Michael have stopped up ahead, watching them curiously.

"It's Thomas."

That's all Emma needs to hear before her stomach drops to the centre of the Earth.

She looks to Tom, who nods. "Go."

Emma flashes him a thankful smile before turning and beginning to run back to the house with Miss Baxter.

"Mama?" She hears Ivy call.

Not wanting her daughter to panic, Emma smiles calmly over her shoulder, slowing slightly. "Mama just forgotten something sweetheart."

Ivy accepts this and begins tugging Michael along with her to carry on playing.

——

(A/N: This is the suicide part.)

Emma and Miss Baxter hurry through the empty downstairs passage, looking for Thomas. They look in the Servants' Hall, the Boot room – empty. Emma ignores all the odd looks they're getting from the other servants as she has only one thing in mind.

They move on to the stairs, barging past a surprised maid, Lucy, and enter the men's corridor. Andy is just exiting his room, pulling on his tailcoat, when they turn the corner.

"Does Mrs Hughes know you're on the men's side?" He says rather sternly to Miss Baxter before startling when seeing Emma. "Er, Mrs Branson—"

"Where is he?" Emma demands.

"Wha—"

"Mr Barrow. Where is he?"

"Er, he was going in for a bath."

Emma sees all colour leave Miss Baxter's face and she knows that her face has done the same thing.

"Oh, my God." Miss Baxter gasps. "Come with us!"

They rush past him, around a corner and to the door of the bathroom. Andy follows, alarmed.

"Hello!" Emma bangs on the door, Miss Baxter joins her. "Thomas! Are you in there?!" She tries the door handle, but the door is locked or bolted. She rattles it desperately. "Will you open this door?!"

"Get back!" Andy instructs.

Emma and Miss Baxter move back, the former has her hands in her hair, pulling in distress while the latter has her hands clapped to her mouth.

Andy aims a kick at the door, then another one. The second kick tears the bolt off the door frame, and the door bursts open. They rush in.

In the red-tiled room, Thomas has filled the bathtub with water and got into it, still wearing his undershirt and trousers. He's lying in it with his eyes closed, pale and lifeless. The water has a reddish tinge, and there's blood spatter on the sides of the tub, on his arms and on his chest.

"Oh, my God!" Andy gasps, horrified.

Emma goes into nursing mode, running towards him and surveying the damage before she starts tearing her underskirt into ribbons for makeshift bandages.

Miss Baxter turns to Andy. "Fetch Mrs Hughes. Send Anna for the doctor, but tell no one else what you've seen."

Andy runs out and Miss Baxter joins Emma by the bath.

——

Emma and Miss Baxter have lifted Thomas' arms out of the bathtub and bandaged his wrists as best they can with the materials they have and are now cleaning him up, softly dabbing his face and arms with wet towels. In the meantime, Thomas had moved his head slightly but very weakly, which is a relief to see.

Both of them look up in alarm when footsteps are heard and the door opens. But relax when they realise it's only Andy and Mrs Hughes.

Mrs Hughes stands in the doorway for a moment, shocked at the sight, but then recovers quickly, closing the door for privacy. "Anna's gone for Doctor Clarkson."

"Good, we've bandaged his arms for now but we need help in getting him out, changing him out of his wet clothes and get him into bed." Emma tells them.

"I hope he won't mind if we undress him." Miss Baxter says.

"He's past minding if we put him in a shy and threw coconuts." Mrs Hughes remarks. "Now, you two take his feet and Andy and I will take an arm each."

They move to do as she said. Mrs Hughes and Andy each take Thomas under one arm while Emma and Miss Baxter move to the end of the tub.

"Has anyone told Lord Grantham?" Emma asks.

"Mr Carson's seeing to that."

"Right. Here goes." Andy says.

They start pulling Thomas out of the tub. He opens his eyes a fraction and groans. Emma winces at that, her nurse façade falling slightly.

They pause before having a go again.

——

Thomas groans awake.

"Thomas? Thomas?" Emma calls worriedly. They'd been able to get Thomas into his room and change him before Dr Clarkson's arrival. The doctor had been able to treat him without needing to take him to Hospital.

Mr Carson had suggested the idea of telling everyone that Thomas is ill with influenza rather than what had happened. He doesn't want any more people than those who already do to know what happened. Emma agrees with it. As far as she is aware, suicide is a crime in England right now and will be until the latter half of the century. There's the worry that, because Thomas did not succeed, he risks being imprisoned or taken to the asylum. Though for Mr Carson, it's the additional huge scandal for the family.

Robert and Mr Carson have also oh so graciously allowed Thomas to stay for the time being, to take needing to find a job off his mind, which they should have done or something similar at least in the first place.

Emma watches from where she sits at the edge of the bed as Thomas slowly blinks his eyes open. He frowns when he sees Emma, looking slowly over Dr Clarkson, Miss Baxter and Mrs Hughes, who stand behind her before it dawns on him. He suddenly pales.

"I—" His mouth is dry so Emma brings water to his lips to which he takes a sip.

"Mr Barrow, I was able to stitch you up, though Mrs Branson provided superb aid prior to my arrival, so you will not need to go to Hospital." Dr Clarkson kindly but professionally tells him.

"Thank you, Dr Clarkson." Thomas mournfully replies, refusing to look up at anyone.

"And now you're awake and there's nothing else, I will leave you in the diligent care of Mrs Branson and your colleagues." Dr Clarkson adds.

"I'll take you to the door, Dr Clarkson." Mrs Hughes says. The two of them leave.

Miss Baxter lingers for a bit longer, flashing a small, pitying smile in Thomas' direction. "I glad to you're looking better." She says softly before leaving.

As soon as she's left, Thomas pulls a face. "I don't want her pity." Normally that would come out as a grumble but instead, he says it faintly almost like a ghost.

"She's cares for you so you're going to get it whether you like it or not." Emma quips softly.

"Why did you stop me?" He suddenly asks. He fiddles with his bandages to which Emma gently slaps his hands away.

"What? Other than the fact you're my friend and I don't want you to die?" Emma retorts, trying to keep it light.

"Well, you haven't been acting like my friend recently." Thomas retorts.

Emma's face drops. "Yeah, I know I haven't and I'm sorry but I'm my defence, you can be a real bastard sometimes."

"Yeah, I know." Thomas mumbles but this time there's a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth which isn't much but it's something.

(A/N: End of the main part of TW)

——

Emma continues to stay with him for the rest of the day before Miss Baxter takes over and Emma goes to join the others for dinner, at which she learns they'd also been informed of what had happened.

Edith isn't there and has actually gone up to London. After Emma had left Tom, Edith had asked him if he could drive with her to the Station so he could take the car back to Downton. Apparently, the kids had a lot of fun in the spontaneous car ride.

The next day is largely the same though Anna and Miss Baxter take turns in relieving Emma and helping to look after Thomas. At one point in the day, Mary brings both Ivy and George up to visit with oranges to make him feel better. He's still weak and pale but a tad better on what he was yesterday, physically anyway.

Come Friday, Emma sits in the Library with Tom on her break from looking after Thomas/just generally keeping him company. They're on their own as Rosamund, Cora and Robert are getting ready for their tea at Mrs Pamtore's B & B. Rosamund had suggested it, to make a little news story out of it to help with Mrs Patmore regaining the bookings she lost due to the place being deemed a 'house if ill repute'. Emma's glad that's being sorted at least.

Emma is startled out of her musings when Andy comes striding into the room.

Tom looks up from his newspaper. "Andy?"

"The Dowager called, Sir. She's returned to the Dowager House and is now making her way to Downton." He hurriedly informs them, a tad out of breath.

Both Emma and Tom's heads snap towards each other at a speed that really should've snapped their heads off.

"That was quick." Emma remarks. "You should go go to the door, Andy. Don't want her in a mood if there's no footman to greet her."

Andy nods and darts out of the room.

Violet's car comes up the drive to the house and halts at the front door. Andy comes out to meet it and opens the rear door for Violet to get out. Tom and Emma come hurrying out of the house to greet her.

"I can't believe you came!" Tom remarks in greeting.

"You made it sound so urgent." Violet retorts.

"Even so, we really appreciate it. Thank you." Emma says. They start moving towards the entrance together. "Was everything all right when you got home?"

"Well no, not really. Spratt has gone away." Violet complains, pulling them to a stop.

Okay, odd.

"Did you tell him you were coming back?" Tom questions.

"A good butler should not need to be told." Emma almost laughs at that but decides not to interrupt Violet as she continues with, "Now, where are they? My broken-hearted granddaughters?"

"It's just Mary. Edith's gone up to London. We didn't know when we wrote." Emma tells her as they continue walking towards the house.

"All the better." Violet says. "Oh, and after that's been sorted, I would rather like to meet Patrick."

Emma smiles at that. "Of course."

——

Thankfully, Mary is not mad at Tom or Emma for summoning Violet though in doing so has appears to have worked as Mary is much happier, ready to make peace with Edith as well as having sent a telegram to Henry to come as soon as he can today. If Mary wants him then Emma's happy for her.

By the time of his arrival, Billy has arrived home from work and stands anxiously with Emma, Tom and Mary in the Library as Henry walks in through the Small Library. The atmosphere is not exactly pleasantly relaxed here. Mary is extremely nervous, Henry looks confused and reserved, Tom is cautiously optimistic but not overly optimistic while Billy is reserved but hopeful. To be honest, Emma just feels exhausted and is just wishing for the sweet release of this being over.

"Well. That's it. We'll leave you to it." Tom announces.

Emma and Billy begin to follow him just as Tom moves to leave, but Henry's voice stops them.

"You don't have to go."

"Believe me, we do." Emma remarks.

"Exactly. We've been part of this courtship for quite long enough. It's for you to manage from here." Billy adds.

And they walk out and close the door behind them. Billy and Tom begin walking towards the stairs, crossing the Great Hall but Emma doesn't, slowing down her steps.

Billy's the one who catches what she's doing first. "Emma?"

"Wouldn't be weird for me to impatiently wait outside the door until I find out whether there'll be a wedding or not?" Emma tries to say it conversationally but instead, it's awkward and she's cringing.

The two men share a grin and Tom turns to her and says, "Weird but we won't stop you." And they both leave, chuckling.

Emma rolls her eyes and plonks herself on the closest chair by the door.

A short time later Mr Carson emerges from the door that leads to the servants' quarters at the corner of the Hall and moves to the door leading to the Library. He startles but recovers quite efficiently when he spots Emma.

"Mrs Branson?"

"Er, don't mind me, Mr Carson. You just get on with your work." Emma says, trying to not act like she's just been caught red-handed spying. Well, not spying but something close to that.

The butler looks at her baffled but does just that. Emma doesn't see what happens but she can tell he's startled at what he sees and then very quietly and discreetly moves back out of the room and closes the door again.

"I take it by you're expression it's good news?" Emma asks, grinning at the almost scandalised look on the man's face. She lets out a few quiet sniggers.

Just then, Mr Molesley arrives with tea on a tray.

Mr Carson outs up a hand to stop the footman when he reaches them. "Uh, give it a moment, Mr Molesley. Better give it a moment."

He gives Mr Molesley a very significant look, which Mr Molesley answers with a soundless "Ooooh!" when the penny drops.

To be honest this sends Emma from quietly sniggering to full-out laughter.

——

"What is it with men Mary is marrying making both you and Billy their best men?" Emma remarks as Tom shrugs on his mourning coat while Emma does his tie.

It's Saturday 22nd of August 1925 and it's the day Lady Mary Crawley and Mr Henry Talbot get married. Apparently, the two aren't hanging about. The last time he was here, Henry had brought a marriage licence nod conveniently, his uncle is a bishop which means they're able to marry at the earliest convenience which is this Saturday.

They're a little late getting ready and are moving at double the speed than they would've done if they hadn't gotten, er um, busy this morning.

Tom laughs. "It is strange that both of us will have been the best man at both if her weddings."

"Funnier things have happened," Emma remarks as she steps away from him and turns to her dresser to slip on her earrings and pull on her gloves. "Did you know Mr Carson had Henry have breakfast in bed so that there would be no chance of either Henry or Mary catching a glimpse of one another?"

"This is Mr Carson we're talking about. He wouldn't take any chances with Mary's happiness." Tom chuckles, as he places the flowers in his lapel and Emma hands him his hat.

Emma steps back to look at him but not before stroking his lapels to make sure there are no creases. "There. You're all set and now you really must go."

Tom flashes her a grin and gives her a quick peck before he leaves the room to meet with Henry and Billy and make their way to the Church.

——

Emma had arrived in time to watch Anna do Mary's hair and put the finishing touches to Mary's wedding dress along with Cora and Rosamund. It's an altogether less romantic, more modern affair than at her wedding with Matthew, but still very elegant, because come on, it's Mary.

The door opens. Edith comes in, still in her travelling clothes. She looks unsure and reserved.

"What? I don't believe it! Why didn't you say to expect you?" Cora exclaims in surprise as she, Rosamund and Emma all rise from their seats.

"Because I wasn't sure until I got on the train." Edith replies.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Can you not ask me that for the rest of the day?"

Mary turns to Emma, Cora and Rosamund. "Could you leave us for a moment?"

"Of course." Her mother says.

Emma, Cora, Rosamund and Anna move towards the door. Anna opens it for the ladies. Cora pauses at Edith's side to stroke her arm encouragingly.

Emma gives her a warm smile. "I'll see to the children."

"We'll wait for you downstairs." Rosamund adds before they all finally leave. Hopefully, there'll be no blood to mop up or a body to hide.

——

Thankfully neither is true and they all arrive at the Church in one piece. The wedding goes swimmingly and they all soon find themselves emerging from the Church after the newly married Mr Henry Talbot and Lady Mary Talbot to applause and people showering the newly married couple with flower petals. They pause to kiss, to more cheering, then move on.

There's a horse-drawn carriage that Mary and Henry take their seat in before it moves off towards the Abbey.

"Better than ours do you think?" Tom asks after they finish waving it off.

"Nah, no wedding will beat ours, I'm certain." She flashes him a warm loving grin to which he kisses her. They pull apart and Emma adds, "Now, only one more Crawley sister to sought out."

Tom sighs. "Hopefully that won't take long."

Emma looks over to see Edith standing in the churchyard, watching Ivy, Marigold, Michael, Sybbie and George with a loving look on her face. The children are running and laughing and playing tag around Sybil's large stone tomb.

Emma rather thinks it'll all turn out fine in the end. With any luck.

——

A/N: Can't believe I started this story just over two years ago and now I'm here with only one more TV episode to go and then it'll be the movies!!! Where does the time go?

Some facts that I thought might be useful:

Tallboy = tall cabinet

'Punch and Judy' is a traditional British puppet show played from a booth, featuring Mr. Punch and his wife Judy as the main characters. Punch is a clownish creature, a jester and a trickster and most of the comedy comes from the other characters falling victim to Punch's slapstick. Punch speaks in a trademark squawky voice, which is traditionally achieved by the performer speaking through a squazzle, but with less discerning audiences like here, any silly voice alteration will do.

Although suicide itself is no longer a criminal act, under section 2 of the Suicide Act 1961 it remains a criminal offence for a third party to assist or encourage another to commit suicide.

Please leave comments on how you're enjoying this story and what you think.

#doctor who

0 notes

coffee--writes · 4 years ago

Text

The Message on the Wall

Pairing: James Potter x gn!Reader - Marauders x Reader Content

Word Count: 5.9k (jdklfdh im sorry)

Warnings: Underage Drinking, Implications of... yeah. I think that’s about it.

Requested: Yes, a long time (i feel bad for only getting to it but i hope the nonnie stuck around to see this piece) by an anon who asked for James x Reader with childhood best friends to lovers trope.

Summary: In which, James Potter was busy writing himself a message on the wall but was too blind to read what he had to say.

Pictures.

In actuality they were only images. For Muggles, they stood stagnant, for James Potter they moved slightly.

But in deeper meaning pictures were moments in time captured in a frame. They were a personal reminder of things that were, things that used to be and anything else that didn’t fall into one of the other two categories.

James Potter adored pictures. His room was littered with them. A handful were of Quidditch players and Tutshill Tornados merchandise. One picture of him and his parents sat on the nightstand beside his bed. But adjourned on the wall to the left was a mostly blank wall. One small Tornados banner was pinned against the soft red paint and in the middle a picture he was particularly fond of.

The film captured James at the age of four. A broom was clutched in his left hand and a toothy smile on his face as the wind rustled his hair causing it to stick up more than it already did. Beside him was you, your eyes crossed and your tongue licking a swirled lolly.

When his mother had shown him the picture you had just left for home, making a young James quite sad that his friend couldn’t stay just a little longer. Euphemia Potter had smiled, handing the picture to her son. “It’s okay, my love. Now you have a piece of Y/N with you.”

“How?” James had asked, his lower lip jutting out in a frown.

Euphemia laughed. “The picture captures you together. Look how happy the two of you look!” she points at her son’s smile in the photo. “You can do whatever you’d like with it.”

James grinned, his eyes lighting up once more. “I want to hang it, mum!” he dragged her hand into the bedroom with him, climbing on top of his bedsheets and pressing the picture to the wall. “Here. That way I can say goodnight to them even when they're not here.”

Euphemia Potter smiled watching as her son tucked himself under the covers. “That’s a brilliant idea, James.” With a wave of her wand, two pins fastened themself to the wall, the photo beneath.

That was the beginning of James’s love for pictures. More pictures would accumulate such as the one of him and his father at a Tornados game. Drawings you would give him of flowers and Kneazles. The pictures would come and go but yours stayed the same. An additional picture of you and James would later be added three years later when the two of you were seven. James’s broom no longer sat in one hand, instead was gripped with two and hovering five feet off the ground. He had a wicked smile on his face, his glasses slightly falling down his nose. You sat behind him, your small fingers clutching to his waist as the picture captured you mid-squeal.

Time went on yet the pictures of the two of you stayed the same. Along with your drawings, which had improved dramatically since you were seven, he’d occasionally find a Hollyhead Harpies banner plastered to his wall. When he came to scold you, pink banners adjourned in his hand, you’d laugh at the pout on his lips. He could never stay angry at you and always joined in on your laughter.

The final year before things would slightly change was the year before going to Hogwarts. A third picture was added at the age of ten. The Potter family had accompanied your family on a trip to Diagon Alley in which you had bought your screech owl, Juniper. James had one arm wrapped around you. His hair was untidy and a goofy smile was on his face as his other hand flicked your forehead. Your eyes were closed mid-laugh as one hand pushed his face away and the other perched with Juniper who screeched happily on your available arm.

Again, time went on quickly and changes were made in James Potter’s room but you were not one of them. He packed up his Hogwarts things the night of August 31st, leaving his room full of pictures with a soft smile.

You rode on the train with him, both of you waving goodbye to your loved ones. You grinned at him wickedly, “Excited?” you ask.

“Definitely.” he responded. “Do you have money for the trolley?”

You slide into a train compartment, one small boy already sitting there. “Yeah. Do you need to borrow some?”

James nodded and you rolled your eyes, handing money over to the kind witch who passed by, grabbing pumpkin pasties for you and Bertie Botts for James.

The ride was life-changing as you made acquaintances with similar mindsets. Two more boys entered your compartment and along with the scrawny boy from before, all of you made it to Gryffindor. “Where dwell the brave at heart” as James liked to put it.

First year was an interesting feat with James quickly falling head over heels for Lily Evans. Your friendship never faltered although the thought of her in his life made you feel odd. However, you were sure she wouldn’t be in his life for quite some time seeing as his persistent efforts were met with an equally stubborn rejection.

“She’s a firecracker, that one.” he sighed, walking beside you down the hall after another devastating encounter with Lily.

“You’re just embarrassing yourself now, my boy.” you reply, dubbing his nickname to ease the comment.

He smirked. “Then why do you hang out with me?”

“Because, I’m the one who makes sure you don’t cross the line from embarrassing to mortifying.”

He shakes his head with a silly grin. “I doubt that. You love me. That’s why.”

You laugh, an effective way of avoiding the curious ideas that ran through your young mind. “Don’t throw around the l- word so quickly! You’ve got to mean it.”

James bumped your side. “But I’ve known you for years.”

You ruffle his hair, making it messier than it already was. “Save it for Evans.”

---

The year ended and the two of you went home to Northern England hands overflowing with Gryffindor red, spirits high with a drive for Quidditch practice and addresses from Remus, Peter, and Sirius tucked away in your pockets.

James’s room changed tremendously that first year. Alongside the Tutshill Tornados merchandise were small Gryffindor banners, lions enchanted to roar at the touch. You had given him one of your sketches from the school year, one of Sirius and him laughing in Transfiguration, another of him and Peter skipping stones. The pictures of the two of you still remained, a small collection of dust coating the edges which he wiped away with a smile.

Second year was merry and full of high spirits. James had acquired his father’s invisibility cloak which gave cause to a number of nighttime rendezvous and adventures in the kitchens. Suspicion arose on Remus, whose monthly disappearances came to your attention. With the help of Sirius and Peter, the group soon discovered Remus’s guarded secret and accepted the furry little problem with open arms.

The Lily Evans situation did not get any better with James’s persistence holding up fiercely and her hatred toward him even more harsh. As Sirius had dubbed it, “Mate, at this point you’re never getting married.” Remus and Peter whole-heartedly agreed, sending James into an adolescent spiral.

“What if I don’t get married, Y/N/N?” he confided in you by the shores of the Black Lake.

You chuckled, his delirium quite adorable. “You’re going to get married, James. Trust me.”

He sighed, snapping a twig between his fingers. “It’s not definite.”

“Nothing is.” you counter.

James groaned. “I know. I know. But I would like it to be. Wouldn’t you?”

You contemplated the idea, a thought coming to your head. “What if it could be?”

He stared at you curiously. Your eyes lit up and James grinned. “Hit me.”

“If by the time we are thirty neither of us are married then we should get married to each other.” you propose, a proud smile on your face. “That way we can have a definite of our own.”

James grinned. “I like that idea. But what if one of us gets married before that?”

You frown. “Then I guess it’d be a flop. But it’s better than nothing, right?”

He agreed quickly. The sun was setting into a pond of pink. The wind rustled and birds chirped and the moment seemed picture perfect and James wished a camera would magically pop up and capture the moment so he’d be able to hang it on his wall for years to come. It did not work that way, instead, he turned to you with a smirk. “I don’t have anything to propose with.”

You looked down in embarrassment and gave him a shove. “We’re not getting married yet! It’s just a deal not the real thing.”

He rolled his eyes at you. “I know but it feels as though something special should happen. How about we seal with a spit swear?”

You stick your tongue out and pretend to gag. “Ew! No.” you flick his forehead causing him to wince. He grins before flicking you back, watching as you fall back onto the grass.

“I guess a flick works as well.” he sighs. “Y/N Potter has a nice ring to it.”

Your head falls against his shoulder. “I can’t believe I might be a Potter one day. Sounds disgusting.”

James laughs, the weight of your head feeling oddly familiar against his shoulder. “Oh, shut it!”

---

The years came and went. Third year, James made the Quidditch team and he quickly became a ladies man despite his obvious pining over Evans. You made sure to keep his feet on the ground as you didn’t want his ego to get larger than it already was. You came to all his games, occasionally bringing a camera so that James could add his moments of glory onto his beloved room wall. There was the time he tried dedicating a shot to you and ended up getting knocked off his broom by a Beater.

He made the next one thankfully.

On the other hand, you had earned the title of master dueler amongst the third years for your quick arm and sharp spellcasting. While James was at Quidditch practice: you, Peter, Remus, and Sirius would practice in empty classrooms although after a while they became rather bored as you would always win. James would cheer you on, even when you beat him there was a compliment of your skill and he was more than anything, proud.

The summer between third and fourth year was the year the Marauders got their first group picture together. Everyone had met up at the Potter residence, Euphemia Potter snapping the photo with Sirius and James to the left, Peter and Remus on the right, and you in the middle. James hung the picture on his wall as it was routine by now. The whole gang got to see his famous wall of pictures, his life an open storybook to anyone who looked closely.

Fourth year sparked love, pranks, and new ideas. Peter went on his first date, flaming at the cheeks as his friends waved him off embarrassingly. Group pranks ensued upon Snape whose oily hair was dyed all colors of the rainbow by the end of the first semester. You had gone on your first date as well, Steven Goldstein from Hufflepuff whom James threatened to beat up and Sirius who gave him “a talk”.

Most importantly, the group addressed Remus’s furry little problem seeing as each year he came back with more and more scars than before. Two ideas sparked up from the meeting and both were large feats that every member of the group was willing to take.

“So wait..” Peter asked. “You want to make a map… that tracks everyone in Hogwarts?”

James nodded and Remus shook his head. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Don’t look at me that way, Remus.”

Remus shoved him lightly. “How would that even work though? Isn’t it a little invasive?”

You smiled. “It most certainly is invasive but think about how awesome it’d be to have something like that. All we would need is…”

“A complex locator spell.” you and Sirius said together.

Everyone grinned. “Pete can do the drawing and sketching. He’s good at that stuff. We should check for secret passageways. All of us could do the magic. We’ve got the brains.”

“I don’t think someone with brilliant magic technique would use the word brain to describe their intelligence.” you point out. James simply flicked you in the head.

“And there’s the Animagi thing…” Sirius added.

“That’s a reach.” Remus replied.

“More than the map?” Peter questioned.

Remus sighed. “You guys don’t have to do that for me. I’ve been transforming on my own for years. No need to have buddies now.”

“Nonsense.” you say. “Anything for you, Rem. This is what you deserve.”

The friends looked at each other silently. “Are we ready to pull off the biggest student feat in Hogwarts history?” Sirius whispered.

“Aye, aye.” Everyone cheered.

Peter grinned. “We’re up to no good.”

James smiled back. “Then let us manage our mischief well.”

WIth that the group commenced, exiting the abandoned classroom they used and taking off to class. James walked by your side as you headed to astronomy together.

“I can’t wait till we pin this down. It’s going to be an epic year.” he grinned.

You chuckle. “I know you’ll end up stalking someone, Potter. Evans by the looks of it.”

He shook his head, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Nope. I’m gonna stalk you instead. See if you’re hiding any secrets from me.”

You smile. “What secrets could I possibly be hiding from you, my boy?”

James nudged your side with a smirk. “You’re telling me a good-looking fellow like yourself isn’t sneaking off with some other lad other than their best friends.”

You shook your head, the word “good-looking” repeating itself in your mind. “No. If I did I would tell you.”

“Good.” he said, starting up the stairs to the Astronomy tower. “I don’t need some arsehole stealing you away from me.”

You roll your eyes. “No one could ever steal me from you, James. I’m not a Quaffle.”

He nods with a grin. “Yeah. I suppose you’re more of a Snitch.”

You laugh, dashing up the stairs in hopes that you wouldn’t be late for your Astronomy lesson.

---

As one could guess more pictures and sketches made their home on James Potter’s wall. It was a cluttered mess but beautiful nonetheless. It was as though the wall had an expression of its own with its array of Quidditch jerseys, photographs, art, and ticket stubs. Nobody touched the wall except James as he liked having every picture in place. His wall organized the way he liked it best… messy.

Fifth year was the first year you didn’t see James every week. He had eagerly signed up for Quidditch camp and had left for Wales with promises that’d you write about the boys and the progress on the map and Animagi projects. The projects went well with Peter completing the outline sketches of the maps, Remus filling piles of papers on Animagi transformations and finally Sirius and you gathering the needed ingredients for the Animagi process.

You had grown taller over the summer, hair lightening and your features more accentuated. Eagerly you awaited James’s return and when the time did come you had woken up early in the morning to see him arrive by Portkey on the hill. The second he appeared you had rushed over, engulfing him in a hug. You had missed his touch, his constant nagging and overall the James Potterness that followed him around that would never fade with time.

Meanwhile, he was left out of breath, a couple of inches taller and a smile on his face as he squeezed you back. “Y/N/N! I missed you, you lazy hag.”

You laughed, messing up his hair that sat more neatly than in previous years. “And I missed you, my boy.”

The next days before school were spent catching him up on the map and at the pond by your house. With each swim you noticed the changes in James such as the six-pack the tedious trials at Quidditch camp had given him.

“Oi!” you shouted, splashing him in the face. “Whatever happened to the skinny twig that was my friend?”

He smirked. “Oi! Why are you looking?”

You bit your lip, not allowing him to see you flustered. “I’m sorry. You’re my best friend and it’s a very noticeable change!” you pointed at his toned stomach.

James tapped your nose and you stared at him in annoyance. “It’s only noticeable if you want to notice it.”

He turned around, making to walk back to the shore of the pond. You didn’t remember when James had gotten so cheeky although he’d always been that way, just never with you. Wickedly, you took the bucket that floated beside you and dunked it in the water. With a mischievous grin, you snuck up behind him, dumping the bucket of water on his head.

James turned around with a gasp, jaw dropped. You laughed, a wide smile on your lips at the sight of him drenched in his swim trunks. It wasn’t until his arms tucked along your waist, dragging you to the deeper ends of the pond did the smile drop and his return.

“Why you little…” you seethed. “James Fleamont Potter if you-”

It was too late by then, your body submerged in the water and you swam up, his laughter the first noticeable sound. You scowled as he doubled over with laughter on the shore. “I’m never letting you go to Quidditch camp again.”

The two of you walked home as the sun set, many flicks to the forehead ensuing as you did.

---

Fifth year was by far the most epic year of your Hogwarts experience. Everything was prepared for the Animagi transformation and phase two of the map project was ready to launch with Remus having gained access to the restricted section of the library.

It seemed as though the whole student body had recognized the change in James’s physique which only led to an inflation of his ego. The worst part was that Lily Evans just so happened to be one of those said noticers and while her defiance toward him was still strong, she could be caught staring in class much to James’s delight.

The Animagi process began as soon as the September full moon. While Remus suffered in the Shrieking Shack, the four other Marauders set their Mandrake leaves into their mouths preparing for an uncomfortable month of bitterness on their tongues. The leaves were held under their tongues when talking in class and for the rest of the time they resorted to note passing leaving the entirety of Hogwarts wondering why the Marauders went quiet so suddenly.

During the period between moons, they worked on their map. Stacks of books, both regular and restricted, lay among them. Each had a quill and parchment used to take note of spells or pass messages back and forth. As you worked you received a message from James in the form of a crumpled ball of parchment. You smoothed it out with a sigh.

I hate this thing. It tastes like piss and lime.

You held back a chuckle, writing your own message next to his.

You’re not backing out of this, Potter. It’s for Remus.

He stuck the leaf under his tongue in order to stick it out at you and you rolled your eyes. He scribbled a message back.

I know. I know. Doesn’t mean I can’t complain about it.

You smirked, tossing the parchment back to him.

If your scrawny arse can come back from Quidditch camp with abs then you can stomach keeping a leaf in your mouth for a month.

He smoothed it out and you went back to your work only getting in a minute's reading before the parchment bounced off your head. You scowled at his antics but he only looked at his book with a smirk. Unfolding the paper, James’s messy handwriting took up the last blank space on the parchment.

Nice to know you still think about my abs.

Your stomach squirmed at the feeling that inflamed from his words and the smirk that was on his face. You flicked him on the head, throwing the parchment into the fire before Sirius could ask what it was.

---

It took moon soaked leaves, untouched morning dew and a lightning storm to finally complete the transformations. It was on a late November night that a lightning storm finally struck and in the fifth corridor bathroom the Marauders made their first transformations. For Peter, a small rat with a wriggling tail. For Sirius, a pure black dog. For James, a large stag with mighty horns. For you, a sly fox with sleek orange fur.

Thus that night began the use of the nicknames: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs and Vixen. Dubbed by James and agreed upon all around. The final full moons of fifth year were spent prancing around Hogsmeade alongside Remus whose scars diminished with each transformation spent with his friends.

The downside of it all was the building tension in the school. With Lord Voldemort on the rise, more and more of your classmates were showing their true colors. Select Slytherins no longer wore short sleeves, their wrists always covered even in the heat of summer. Watchful eyes and protective glares, you went home for summer in worry.

Over the summer, Prongs lost his Pronginess. He wrote to Lily Evans most days of the week and now the things she sent him hung on his wall alongside you and the Marauders. An anticipated change but a scary one still. Every outing with James became more about Lily and less about anything else. You could feel your best friend slipping away and you told him so the night before the start of sixth year.

The two of you sat together in the branches of a tree. The sun hit your skin in rays and clouds passed by over your heads. James’s voice droned on about his darling Lily flower and with an unknowing malice you snapped at him. “Shut it!” you groaned.

His eyes looked over at you, hands holding your head in remorse. “Aren’t you happy for me? You’ve been acting off all summer.”

“I’ve been acting off because you’ve been acting off. I am happy for you but Evans is the only thing you talk about these days. What happened to talking about the Tornados or sneaking out together for milkshakes?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s different now.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be.” you exclaim. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t grow up. I support the idea of you no longer being a cheeky bastard. If you’re happy with Evans then I am happy for you. But being with Evans doesn’t mean you have to forget about me or the Marauders or everything else.”

James nodded, a leaf spinning between his fingers as he frowned. “I’m sorry, Y/N/N.”

You shake your head. “I am too. Sorry I snapped at you, my boy.” your head fell onto his shoulder the same way it had done for years only this time things had changed. The weight still felt perfect on his shoulder but now his stomach turned and his breath hitched at the close proximity. Things were indeed changing although the two of you only danced around it, not wanting to address the mess you two had made.

Your head was still against his shoulder as you spoke quietly. “Just remember you’re not a Quaffle.”

He chuckled, stroking your hair affectionately. “I guess I’ll be the snitch then.”

You smiled, swimming in the feel of the James Potter you knew so well. Later that night, the two of you snuck out like old times, sharing a chocolate milkshake and sending each other glances the whole way home.

---

Sixth year was a rollercoaster. The map was finished, all the efforts poured out finally receiving an equally impressive outcome with the parchment branded with the names of the Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs and Vixen. Remus had his first kiss and Sirius decided on leaving home and James welcomed him with open arms.

The other Marauders were not impartial to the changes in your and James’s behavior. The miniscule changes in his face when you napped on his lap or the flush of your skin when he rustled your hair. In all honesty, it was as though the two of you were finally waking up and seeing what they’d been seeing all along. However, your own defiance was strong and love wasn’t simple. James was still under the impression that his heart beat for Lily Evans and you flirted around your feelings as opposed to finally confronting them.

When Gryffindor won the Quidditch season, you were the first one in James’s arms to congratulate him. He spun you around, a large grin on his face. “We won!”

You smiled. “That you did, my boy. Celebration calls and are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

He tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Hmm? Let me guess… Firewhiskey?”

“That’s my boy.” you cheer, linking your arm in his and dragging him off the field as Lily Evans watched the boy she had taken a chance on run off with someone else.

---

Firewhiskey made for a fine celebration and resulted in James and you collapsed on the floor of the Gryffindor common room at two in the morning. His glasses were crooked as he stared up at the ceiling and your hair fell in waves on the floorboards.

“Blimey, I can’t believe we won.” James chuckled, his words slurring together slightly.

“You deserve it, my boy.” you say, lightly punching his arm. “How are you feeling on this fine evening?”

His cheeks went pink but a smile overtook his features making for a hilarious expression when he shouted out. “Randy!”

You doubled over with laughter. “Gosh, James. I don’t need to hear about this.” you shove his grinning face with your palm.

“What, you've never felt randy before?” he asked, a childlike expression on his face juxtaposing such an intrusive question.

You hide your embarrassment behind a grin. “Yes, but I’m not going around telling you about it.”

He tapped your nose with the tip of his finger and your stomach swirled. “And why not?”

You turned over to your side. “I’m not sure best friends tell each other about being randy, Prongs.”

James sighed. “I guess not. But how are you feeling, my little vixen?”

With a swig of your drink and a grin you reply. “Randy.”

The two of you erupt into fits of laughter. James pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I suppose it’s the whiskey then.”

You stare up at the ceiling. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

Both of you knew that wasn’t the case. You knew that despite the whiskey slowing the gears of your mind you still noticed James’s hand laying by your waist. You could still trace the outline of his chin and the bridge of his nose. James could still see the curve of your lips and the rise of your chest. Firewhiskey was most definitely not the cause of your randiness.

But it was the easiest thing to blame.

---

Your birthday came soon after with the Marauders celebrating in joy. Presents were exchanged with Remus giving you some books, Peter knitted (with the help of his mother) a pair of mittens for you and Sirius had gifted you a record to play on your stereo.

But James had to be extravagant. It wasn’t everyday his best friend turned seventeen and he marked the occasion with something expensive yet meaningful. When you opened the small box inside had been a silver fox ring. It’s eyes sparkling gems that twinkled as if blinking.

“James, I’m going to kill you.” you seethed. “This is way too expensive. I’m turning seventeen not fifty.”

He laughed. “Oi, woman! It’s fine. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Besides, only the best for you.”

You stared at it once more before engulfing him in a hug. “It’s beautiful, my boy. Thank you.”

His arms squeezed your waist, breathing you in and remembering the sweet smells of childhood and friendship rolled into one. His eyes closed and it was as if he had drifted off into a pleasant dream. “Of course, my little vixen.”

You made certain to flick his head after.

He was starting to regret giving it to you already.

---

Sixth year came to a close with an even more devastating end than the last. The war only continued to rage with Muggles being murdered miles away from the school, Muggle-borns driving into hiding. Sirius’s brother was slowly falling into line with the other Slytherins, devoting their hours to the torture of Muggleborns, Lord Voldemort and the likes.

James left Hogwarts heart-broken when Lily Evans broke up with him on the last day of term. “Look around!” Lily had told him. “You’re blind, James. I’m not the person you want and it’d be clear if you’d stop and take a look.”

He hadn’t known what she meant and the first week of summer was spent crying and eating ice cream on the sofa with you by his side. His room had become a mess and Lily’s letters no longer remained on the wall instead crumbled up in a ball in the trash.

Euphemia Potter couldn’t dread to see her son in the dumps any longer and she made sure to tell him so one evening after you had left.

“James, you need to get your life together, my love.” she whispered, rubbing her sons back reassuringly.

His words came out muffled into her neck. “It’s hard.”

“I know.” she soothed. “And I’m always going to be there for you.”

“Promise?” he asked.

“Promise.” she smiled. “Now how about you go clean your room. It’s become quite dirty.”

He nodded, trudging to his room with a broom. Lily’s words repeated in his mind as he entered. “You’re blind, James. Look around!” But there was nothing to look for. All he saw was his wall and a soft smile came to his face as he approached it. The Tutshill Tornado banners clung loosely to the paint and drawings of Kneazles and landscapes and trees. Pictures of the Marauders and Gryffindor lions.

And finally the ones of you.

His fingers ran across the picture in the middle. Four-year old James grinning and you licking a lolly. His eyes moved to the next one, seven years old and flying together on a broomstick. A grin broke out on his face as he saw the one with your owl in Diagon Alley, his fingers flicking your forehead. James’s mind was on hyperdrive as he examined each picture, one common factor in almost all of them.

You.

You were in many of the photos, a smile adorned on your face. If you weren’t in the photos you were the one taking them, knowing how much he adored them. Any pictures that hung were sketched by your hands. Here was James Potter’s open story, the story of his life all plastered to the wall as though it was an empty canvas. Present in every moment, every aspect, had been you. You had been the start of his book, the picture of the two of you as tots still smacked in the middle of the wall. Yes, he realized. You had started his book and had remained in it for quite some time.

Lily Evans must’ve noticed and maybe everyone else had too.

James had been blind to the message that was sprawled across his wall. He had been the one writing it, maybe not knowingly but writing it out all the same. Everyone had seen it except the writer and his subject, the message painstakingly clear years prior to its conception.

He quickly removed all the pictures from the wall, grabbing each one that hung and piling them up in his hand. The door swung open as he dashed out of his room yelling, “I’ve got to go, mum!” before running out the front door. The hills of green were illuminated by the night sky, the stars burned for James as he hopped over branches and boulders to get to you.

Your house was in the distance, your figure standing a few feet away from the home. He called out to you, your eyes turned to meet his. When he reached you, he paused, catching his breath.

“James, what on Earth are you doing here?” you laugh, placing a hand on his shoulder as he breathed.

He stood up straight, panting as he held up a photo. “This is us when we were four. The first photo we ever took together.”

You squinted at him. “Right?”

He shuffled through the pictures, fingers tracing each one. “And this is from when we were seven. That one from when we were ten. You gave me this drawing when we were six because you loved Kneazles and wanted one as a pet. That drawing was from the first year when we went skipping stones at the Black Lake and you sketched me and Peter.”

Your face melts slowly. “James, I don’t understand. You’ve had these for years.”

He exhaled, his eyes lighting up. “That’s the thing. I never saw it till now but Lily said I was blind and that she wasn’t the person I wanted.” You nod, wiping the sweat from his forehead with your sleeve and he grinned. “See that right there. That’s what I want.”

The night air bit at your spine. “You want me to wipe the sweat from your forehead?”

He shook his head with a soft chuckle. “Not exactly. I want you to wipe the sweat from my forehead for the next year and the next ten and then the next fifty. You’ve been doing it for years already and the thing is… I don’t think I want anyone else doing it for me.”

You blinked as he came closer, his palms cradling your cheek as you gazed into his eyes. “You’ve been in my life for as long as I could remember and I want you to stay in it for as long as I live. You told me once to not throw around the l-word and I said…”

“But I’ve known you my whole life.” you mutter.

“I think I’ve loved you for a while. I just didn’t know it yet.”

You shook your head as the wind rustled the branches, the windchime on your porch creating soft melodies. A large grin spread across your lips yet you continued to shake your head. “There’s a war, James.”

He smiled. “Only more the reason to be with me.”

“But I’ve been with you my whole life.” you tease.

“Oh, shut up!” he chuckles, before leaning down to capture your lips. At that moment everything made sense. All the pieces of the puzzle sifted into place and the stars applauded you from the sky and the night gale created a ruckus at your shed blindfold.

“Be my Snitch?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes, “That’s the cringiest thing you’ve ever said, my boy.”

He smirked. “Oh, but you love it.”

“Perhaps I do.” you replied, flicking his forehead for good measure.

---

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ducklooney · 3 years ago

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Collage of my drawings related to Gyro Gearloose-Happy 70th birthday to you, Gyro!

By the way, I will mostly post it on my blog, where you can follow the publication of my drawings, although I will sometimes publish it on my main blog. Here is the link: https://ducktoonsfanart.tumblr.com/

Although I have already done these drawings in a year, I will definitely publish the same again, but on the occasion of my favorite inventor Gyro, who is now celebrating his 70th birthday. Although I don’t have that much time for many endeavors (for some I may arrive now, and for some not yet) so here’s a dedicated drawing for my favorite inventor at Duckverse, and that is Gyro Gearloose. He first appeared in the comic book “Gladstone’s Terrible Secret” in May 1952 (I learned somewhere that it was actually in April) and since then it has been 70 years since Gyro Gearloose appeared. Yes, he was created by the genius Carl Barks. Certainly, he became Donald’s best friend and credited with the creation of Duck Avenger, as well as working for Scrooge McDuck, although Scrooge paid him poorly (even with peanuts). All in all, Gyro has a phenomenal family as well as great inventions, although sometimes it goes according to a bad plan. Yes, Ludwig von Drake and Gyro Gearloose are not the same, although they invent new inventions. Most of the time, Ludwig is more of a consultant in comics, while Gyro is in charge of repairs and inventions. Yes, in 1965, his nephew Newton also appears and he will be the best friend of Huey, Dewey and Louie. Although he is naughty, he still benefits his friends as well as his uncle.

The first drawing is related to Gyro Gearloose driving his Gyromobile, along with Ludwig von Drake driving his Ludwigmobil and Newton driving his Newtoncopter. You can see the link to this here: https://ducktoonsfanart.tumblr.com/post/666637939548340224/here-is-my-new-drawing-although-ive-been-late

The second drawing is related to Time Tub, which can be traveled through time, invented by Gyro Gearloose. With them goes the Grand Mogul (Bertie McGoose), Junior Woodchucks (Huey, Dewey and Louie) and Donald Duck who is grumpy. And there's Little Helper. You can see the link for the second drawing here: https://ducktoonsfanart.tumblr.com/post/676695941665947648/gyro-gearloose-and-his-friends-in-timetub-i-wanted

The third drawing is related to the modern version of Gyro Gearloose and his nephew Newton who became a teenager and so I imagine them in the Quack Pack. There's also Little Helper. You can see the link for the third drawing here: https://ducktoonsfanart.tumblr.com/post/683174889457369088/gyro-gearloose-and-his-nephew-newton-gearloose

Now, I could do something special for him, which I might do, but for now, that's it. I hope you like this and wish Gyro Gearloose, happy 70th birthday again! Also music with this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y55FbDevEx8

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emptysatellite · 3 years ago

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fool for love

Ao3

James never thought he’d be rendered speechless. He’d always been able to talk back to his professors, jest with his friends in between classes, and confide to his parents about his greatest hopes and dreams without any problems.

But Lily Evans―that beautiful, intelligent, kind-hearted, loyal witch―could do it to him every time she opened her pretty lips.

Before sixth year, she’d usually say something like, “did you shit your nappy, Potter?” or, “get your head out of your arse, Potter,” or, “Potter, bugger off,” and James would let his jaw drop for a split second before responding with something like, “nah, did you shit yours, Evans?” or, “not until you get your head out of your arse, Evans,” or, “Evans, you know you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

It was always a competition, those first five years, of who could annoy each other more (although, James always thought it was the peak of flirtation, while Lily, well, she was just retaliating from his immature behavior).

James would also attempt to ask out the girl with flaming red curls, but she always shook her head and faked gag, or went on a spiel about why he was such an idiot, or simply rolled her eyes and stalked away.

Everything changed in sixth year, when Lily became less hostile and more friendly towards James. He assumed it was because of the Snape shit that had occurred the year previously, but James didn’t care because he got to see Lily smile more often and that alone made butterflies flutter in his stomach.

He would still pause momentarily after she spoke to him, saying stuff like, “nice match today, Potter,” or, “do you want a sugar quill, Potter,” or, “Potter, truth or dare?” and be able to formulate an adequate response like, “cheers, Evans,” or, “I think you already know the answer to that question, Evans, yes,” or, “Evans, I’m not a coward so obviously dare.”

They had become friends. They sat close to each other in class, traded desserts at dinner, did a handshake before Quidditch matches, amongst other platonic pleasantries.

Due to this newfound relationship, James stopped asking Lily out on dates, not wanting to make her uncomfortable or ruin the friendship that was growing stronger every day.

Sixth year came and went much faster than James would have wished and, before he knew it, he was parting from Lily. He gave her a long hug, promising to write to her; she promised the same and Lily never broke a promise, ever.

Lily was the first person James told when he was appointed Head Boy and James was the first person Lily told that she received a letter from Dumbledore stating she was Head Girl. Lily was the first person James told that Sirius had officially broken away from his horrible family and James was the first person Lily told that her older sister was getting married to Vermin Dursley. Lily taught him about the Muggle traditions he’d never learn in Muggle Studies and James taught her all about the Ministry she’d never learn in Professor Binns’ History of Magic class.

“I miss you, Potter,” she had declared in one letter. “Your jokes could always brighten my day.”

They were writing non-stop and, by the time school finally rolled around, James had a feeling everything would be different.

Why did he get that feeling? Well… James didn’t really know why he got that feeling, he just knew that he felt it and it was true.

He explained the whole situation to Sirius at breakfast, the morning they left for Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

“Uh-huh, that sounds nice, mate,” Sirius barely looked up from his Vogue magazine, popping a chilled grape into his mouth.

“Did you even listen to me?” demanded James, raising an eyebrow.

“Eh, a little,” he shrugged. “All I really heard was the beginning… about how you had a dream about the future. I stopped listening there, because, in all honesty, you were never really good at Divination.”

“It’s not Divination, because I wasn’t foreseeing the future.”

“You said that everything would be ‘different’ this year,” Sirius finally looked up. “First, it sounds so spooky and ominous, for no reason at all. And second, that’s basically seeing the future.”

“I didn’t say that everything would be different, I said that I feel like everything will be different this year.”

“That’s the same thing, is it not?”

“No, it’s not,” James shook his head, “one is confirmed, one is up in the air.”

“Okay…” Sirius’ voice trailed off as he glanced back down at his magazine.

James just stared at his best friend for a few seconds and, once he realized Sirius was too enamored with the horoscope section to pay attention to him, finished eating his syrup soaked pancakes.

At Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, James and Sirius bid adieu to Mia and Monty, who both had tears in their eyes for their grown up boys, and stepped onto the train with unmatched confidence.

“Want to sit in our normal compartment?” Sirius asked.

“Of course,” James nodded, following his friend to the fateful compartment where they’d met for the first time in seven years previous. They’d entered through the sliding glass doors to see Remus and Peter already settled in, an arrangement of sweets spread along the table.

The gaggle of boys greeted each other and had already fallen into a quick conversation regarding their annual back-to-school prank when the compartment door slid open and four girls walked in.

“Hey, boys,” Lily said at once, Marlene, Dorcas, and Mary following closely behind.

“Ah, there’s our stunning Head Girl,” Sirius motioned to the pin on her jumper, which read in red ‘Head Girl’.

She grinned and looked at James, “and there’s the Head Boy!”

James smirked, doing a dramatic ballerina twirl. “Do I look like a brand-new person? More mature? More dashing?”

“No,” Mary replied, bluntly.

“Sorry to say, but you look like the same prat you’ve always been,” Remus slapped a hand on James’ shoulder.

“My friends have wounded me,” he fanned the back of his hand over his forehead, dramatically, as though he were in a Muggle theater production. “I don’t think I’ll ever recover.”

“Oh, come off it, James,” laughed Lily.

That simple sentence caused James to drop his hands to his side, hazel eyes locked on her green ones. “Huh?” he questioned, thinking that he must have misheard the girl he had loved since he was eleven.

“I only said to come off it,” she repeated, tilting her head in confusion.

“No, that wasn’t it,” he whispered, voice soft around his loud friends who had moved to another conversation, “you called me James.”

“That’s your name.”

“You’ve never called me James before, though.”

“I just thought it was time to change that. We’ve been friends for a while now and friends call each other by their given names, right?” replied Lily.

James broke eye contact and turned his head away. “Yeah,” he said at last. “You’re right.”

Lily’s eyes scanned his face, searching for something James didn’t know. She eventually tore her gaze away, drawing her attention to Remus, who had offered her a Bertie Bott’s jelly bean.

He didn’t talk to her the rest of the train ride, remaining unusually silent. Even when he and Lily had to leave their friends’ compartment to inform the Prefects of their duties that year, James was still quiet, allowing Lily to do all the speaking.

After Lily’s brief introduction speech, she tried to talk to James, but he ignored her. His mind was flooding with thoughts.

Was she mad at him or something? Was she trying to taunt him by calling him James instead of the usual ‘Potter’? He was sure that she still knew of his feelings for her, so was she attempting to play with his emotions?

The Hogwarts Express finally arrived at the infamous school of witchcraft and wizardry and, before they knew it, the group of Gryffindors were entering the Great Hall.

James sat down next to Sirius, as per tradition. Lily sat down next to him.

“Are you alright?” she asked, voice lowered to a whisper .

“Yes, Evans, I’m fine,” he snapped a response, turning towards the front of the Great Hall, where all the professors were congregating.

“James,” Lily said simply, taking his hands into hers.

Her hands were soft and flawless, unlike his own, that were rough and calloused, and it took everything in him to not give into her hardened glare that was directed at him.

“What, Evans?” demanded James.

“Come with me.”

“Professor Dumbledore will be up soon to speak. We should stay and listen; it may be important this year.”

“We won’t be long,” she insisted. “I’m sure we’ll even be back in enough time to hear him talk. Just please come with me, I’ve been wanting to talk to you alone all day.”

That got to James and he let himself be pulled out of the Great Hall by her. She led him out of the room and down the wide corridor, avoiding underclassmen, who were practically buzzing in anticipation for the new school year and the grand feast that awaited them in mere minutes.

“Here,” Lily stopped suddenly, twisting open a bronze doorknob to reveal an empty classroom that looked as if it hadn’t been used in years, desks and chairs covered with linen. She closed the wooden door behind them, letting go of James’ hands. “What’s wrong with you?” Lily crossed her arms.

James raked a hand through his hair. “That’s awfully rude of you, Evans, to assume that something’s wrong with me.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m your friend, James, I know when something’s not okay with you.”

He froze. “Can you stop saying that, please?” he asked.

“What am I saying wrong?” asked Lily.

“My name,” said James.

“Are we not friends or something and I just didn’t get that memo?”

“No, we are friends.”

“Then why, James, why am I not allowed to say your name like the rest of your friends?”

“Because you’re different.”

“How so?”

“I don’t love my other friends like I love you,” he said at last. “You’re… special.”

Lily blinked, her expression unreadable. She just stared at James before taking a deep breath, stepping towards him.

Her lips grazed his and sparks flew. James immediately responded to their brief touch and he grabbed her waist, tugging her forward, pressing her chest to his own. They interlocked their lips like they’d been snogging for ages, like their passion had been rooted for ions and not mere school terms. They kissed like it’d be their last time seeing one another, like they were to go off to battle the next day.

Lily pulled away first, leaving them both gasping for air. “James,” she said, “I don’t love my other friends like I love you, either. My feelings are so beyond just loving you as a friend. I love you, James Potter. You’ve captured my heart and I don’t want you to let go.”

“Lily, you’ve had my heart since first year,” he replied. “Merlin, I love you like no one else in this world.”

She looked downwards. “I thought your feelings for me were gone. That they’d been gone since fifth year and I was loving you in vain.”

“No, that could never be true. My feelings for you will never fade,” James placed a hand under her chin, lifting it high enough for their lips to touch again.

This time the kiss was soft, less desperate. It was still emotional, yes, but not as hungry; they knew this wouldn’t be their last kiss, that they weren’t losing time.

They broke away from one another. Neither spoke, instead just smiling.

James was speechless again and realized that if he never spoke again at least he’d have Lily by side.

#james potter #lily evans #hp

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kindofwriter · 4 years ago

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Can I offer you some: ‘Ep 25, The Gang Meets Wilde’

Pt. 2

I guess I swung wildly between ‘brandy’ and ‘whiskey’ when writing this and didn’t notice, oof.

Transcript under the cut:

HAMID: I don't, I, I don't think so... Um, hello?

HAMID presses his finger tips to the door, swinging it gently inwards but not fully opening it. SASHA instantly flattens herself against the wall, drawing a dagger and clutching it to her chest.

VOICE (O.S.): Oh, hello?

BERTIE: Oh! Hello!

SASHA and ZOLF both give BERTIE a glare. HAMID reaches out to push the door further, but stops before he does.

VOICE (LANGUISHLY): Oh, hello!

BERTIE (OVERLAPPING): Hello!

HAMID (OVERLAPPING): Hello?

VOICE (O.S.) (OVERLAPPING): Hello!

BERTIE: Hello! Hello!

ZOLF elbows BERTIE in the waist.

ZOLF: Who on Earth are ya?

VOICE (O.S.): I could ask you the same question, I suppose!

HAMID steps into the apartment, pushing the door wide open as he does so. ZOLF and BERTIE step in behind him.

OSCAR WILDE is lounging by the hearth, looking only slightly uncomfortable in a halfling-sized chair. He's human, average height and average build, with plump, youthful features. His hair falls the nape of his neck in glossy, brown waves that shimmer every time he turns his head; he's clearly wearing an illusion.

WILDE is dressed in a manner that's almost garish: peacock patterned waistcoat, scarlet, French-style suit, red shoes, and yellow socks, but between his good-looks and his charisma he completely pulls it off. In one hand he holds a glass of HAMID's whiskey, and in the other a note pad.

WILDE: So sorry I, uh, got here a little early, thought I'd just wait it out.

WILDE smiles winningly at the party. BERTIE reaches up to lift the grate of his armour. HAMID looks confused. ZOLF frowns, then grabs hold of his symbol. A low sound, part way between a hum and a growl, emits from his throat, reminiscent of wind battering across the top of a lake. For just a moment his eyes glow, then WILDE's notebook bursts into flames.

WILDE: Ooh, ah!

WILDE drops the pad, shaking his hand. It's burnt to a crisp before it hits the ground. Looking at its smoldering remains, a faint smile twitches at WILDE's lips.

WILDE: Fantastic, that'd be you... Zolf? Yes?

ZOLF (PLAYING DUMB AS A ROCK): Who, sorry?

WILDE (SMIRKING): Hmm.

CUT TO SASHASASHA is still pressed against the wall, head turned to the side so she can listen in. Her face is stony, but she looks poised for a fight.

CUT BACK TO INT.

WILDE: So, that must be Zolf.

ZOLF scowls and looks away from WILDE.

WILDE: And Hamid, and Sir Bertrand, yes.

BERTIE: Hello.

BERTIE steps forward, obscuring WILDE's view of everyone else. Between his height and his breadth he towers over WILDE, who immediately starts to look a little flushed.

WILDE (ALMOST COY): Hello.

WILDE looks BERTIE up and down in a meaningful fashion. He then glances away for a moment to meet ZOLF's eye, just to make sure he's catching what WILDE is doing. BERTIE looks a little affronted at the loss of attention.

BERTIE: Mm.

WILDE turns and begins to pour another glass of whiskey from HAMID's decanter, then offers it to BERTIE.

HAMID: Um, who might you be?

WILDE (WITHOUT BREAKING EYE CONTACT WITH BERTIE): Wilde. Good to meet you.

BERTIE: Pleasure.

BERTIE takes the drink.

ZOLF: Is there a compelling reason why, um, I shouldn't shove this trident up your bum?

Now WILDE does turn away from BERTIE, looking right at ZOLF. It's difficult to tell whether he's red with annoyance, heat, or still recovering from his intense eye contact with BERTIE.

WILDE: Oh, that's not very- You wouldn't want that getting out, would you now? Honestly!

BERTIE (CLEARLY TRYING TO WIN WILDE'S ATTENTION BACK): Well, you haven't been formally introduced, which I think is part of the reason.

ZOLF (MUTTERING): Well, also, you'd be dead, so it wouldn't be going anywhere.

BERTIE has clearly failed to hold WILDE's attention, as he watches ZOLF with a quirked eyebrow. There's no hint of the 'bedroom eyes' he'd tried on with BERTIE, but there's definitely some kind of passion in that gaze. However it seems, more than anything, like the passion to argue.

HAMID: You, you, you appear to be in my apartment uninvited.

WILDE: I do apologise.

WILDE actually looks at HAMID for the first time.

WILDE: I was just hoping to get hold of you, and, well, I thought this was the best place. I mean, you have been staying here most nights, haven't you?

HAMID: Yes.

WILDE: Well, there we go then, I, uh, I thought you might enjoy the company.

WILDE once again makes eyes at BERTIE.

HAMID: Next, next time it might be nice of you to wait for an invitation.

WILDE: I, I do apologise, I, I did knock!

HAMID sighs deeply.

HAMID: Not quite the same thing, is it?

WILDE (EVASIVELY): I suppose not. So! This is all very exciting; I'm noticing you're all looking a little worse for wear-

HAMID smooths a hand over his waistcoat.

HAMID: I, uh, I would dispute that, thank you.

WILDE: Well, let me re-phrase: not all of you. I'm, I'm noticing, um-

WILDE glances at ZOLF, who seems to be the only one in the room not trying to capture his attention.

ZOLF (GRUMPILY): No, I always look like this.

WILDE: One of, one of your party's missing?

ZOLF (PLAYING DUMBER THAN A ROCK): Who? Nope.

WILDE: Oh, I'm fairly certain that the girl-

ZOLF (INTERRUPTING): No, nope, who? What?

WILDE: The girl is. Hmm, yes. Quite. So, where have you been? How was today? I'm quite fascinated, actually.

HAMID (FIRMLY): Why don't you tell us why it is you're here?

WILDE: Well, I just thought it might be a good idea for you to sit down and, y'know, really, really share, y'know? Really explain things by yourselves, because people want to know. You know?

WILDE gives HAMID a very smug look.

HAMID: Are you a reporter of some kind?

WILDE: Mm, yeah, of a, of a kind. I, I, I sell my stories to whoever's interested, really. And a lot of people are very interested-

WILDE turns away from HAMID and begins to pour more glasses of whiskey. HAMID seems unfazed by this.

WILDE: I just, a lot of people are very interested-

BERTIE: Well, you know-

BERTIE shoves his glass between the decanter and the glass WILDE was filling, effectively giving himself a top-up.

BERTIE: I, I have been looking- I very much have an opening for a biographer.

BERTIE raises an eyebrow at WILDE, still leant across him from filling his glass. WILDE smirks.

WILDE: Well, we would have to closet ourselves away for a significant amount of time to really go over, go over the details. The nitty gritty, as it were.

Behind them, ZOLF scowls, clearly picking up on their queer-coded language, but immediately looking down on anyone who would willingly flirt with BERTIE. HAMID shuffles his feet, waiting innocently for the pair to finish talking.

BERTIE: I, I assure you, I have some extremely fine details to share with the appropriate young scholar.

WILDE turns, two new glasses of whiskey balanced in one hand.

WILDE (WITH A CHUCKLE): Presumably you mean of quality, not diminutive.

BERTIE joins in with his chuckle, but it quickly becomes mean, eventually devolving into a deep growl. Suddenly looking a little uncomfortable, WILDE moves away from BERTIE and offers a glass of whiskey to ZOLF. His face is soft; clearly he's looking for a little sympathy.

ZOLF refuses to take the whiskey, and scowls again at WILDE.

HAMID takes the glass offered to him, so WILDE drains ZOLF's.

BERTIE: My details are distinguished by their quality and their quantity.

WILDE (LESS SURE, BUT STILL PLAYING HIS PART): Indeed, I mean, that, that's a lot of the reason that I'm here. I've been hearing so much interesting- I mean, your deeds with Other London? And especially, I mean- Did you, did you manage to catch whoever it was with the antiques store?

CUT TO SASHA IN THE HALLWAY

SAHSA grimaces; tightens her grip on the dagger.

CUT BACK

WILDE: I heard that was, heard that was a bit of a problem, no?

An awkward silence hangs over the room for a moment as ZOLF and HAMID give WILDE a look that tells him that was in poor taste. BERTIE enjoys his whiskey.

HAMID: Uh, l-look, Mister Wilde, I don't-

WILDE: Sorry that was, that was, that was rude of me. Clearly I was treading on a nerve. I'm so sorry.

BERTIE raises an eyebrow, seemingly losing some respect for WILDE as he apologises.

HAMID: I don't, I don't mind telling you about, uh, what we've been up to. As I'm sure you've seen in the press and will see again soon, we are not averse to sharing our story. But I really must insist that you tell me what it is you do, and why it is you are here specifically.

WILDE (JUMPING IN): It is so generous of you to donate so much to the natural history museum, as well-

Suddenly WILDE is knocked off his feet, backwards into HAMID's chair, dropping his glass as he does so. SASHA looms over him, the tip of a dagger pressed lightly to his throat. WILDE is surprised, but not afraid.

SASHA: What do you know about the antique store?

WILDE smiles, just slightly.

WILDE: Well, I was hoping you'd be able to tell me, all I know is that you were there.

SASHA (UPSET, BUT IN HER OWN WAY): What, what do you know?

BERTIE steps forward, placing a hand on SASHA's shoulder.

BERTIE: Now, now, Sasha. If there's any blade to be held to this young man's throat I feel it should be mine-

SASHA shrugs BERTIE off with such force he actually has to remove his hand.

SASHA (CLEARLY AGITATED): He, he knows something about what happened to Gusset. He, he knows who trashed Gusset's store!

WILDE (WRIGGLING BENEATH THE DAGGER): No, no, that's not what I said.

SASHA: Oh, really? So, you know-

WILDE: I was curious-

SASHA: So how did you know about that? Because we didn't go to the press about that.

SASHA pressed slightly with the dagger. WILDE leans further into the chair to avoid getting nicked.

WILDE: Well, y'know, some people are observant, and some people, y'know- I mean, where do the press find these things out?

SASHA: Well, but- Usually, Hamid tells them!

For just a moment SASHA alleviates some pressure from WILDE, and it seems as if she might wheel around to threaten HAMID. Then she looks down at WILDE and re-applies the pressure; she trusts HAMID.

WILDE: Well, usually doesn't always cut it-

SASHA: That's how journalism works!

WILDE takes a moment to allow his eyes to drift back to BERTIE.

WILDE: Some deeds will just speak of their own accord.

SASHA: Oi!

SASHA begins to press the tip of the blade to WILDE's throat. Once ZOLF realises what she's doing he steps forward slightly, poised to pull her off.

SASHA: What do you know about who trashed Gusset's store?

WILDE: I don't know what to say. I know that you went in there, and you, uh, had a bit of a conversation. It looked very amicable, and then you headed on your way.

WILDE catches sight of ZOLF, stood behind SASHA with an arm outstretched. He visibly relaxes, allowing a huge grin to spread across his face.

#rqg #the rusty quill gaming podcast #zolf smith #oscar wilde rqg #sasha rackett #hamid saleh haroun al tahan #bertie macguffingham #zoscar #ah that sweet sweet qpr meet ugly #rqg 25 #author's note

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langdxn · 4 years ago

Note

Careless Whisper!! I need my husband and Careless Whisper! Pwease 🥺

aaah i love this! i’ve been wanting to try out crispy Xavier for so long, so here goes…

WARNING: very graphic details of injuries (gif by langdvn)

youtube

“Hello?”

Xavier knew calling out would be futile; the others would be halfway across the camp by now, Bertie would never have escaped Jingles’ clutches and Jingles himself wasn’t likely to release him from this oven when he was the one that put him there in the first place. Nevertheless, he called out.

“Hey!” He cried, slamming his palm against the glass regardless of the stinging waves of heat flushing through his veins. “Hey!”

You’re wasting your breath, he thought to himself. Preserve your strength.

Unfurling his lavender collar and dipping his head beneath its thin veil, another pointless effort at shielding himself from the stifling heat closing in, Xavier felt his nose run cold, liquid pouring freely from his nostril. Raising a hand to wipe his lip, his fingers emerged coated in blood.

“Fuck,” he seethed under his breath, slapping his palm against the glass pane, a translucent barrier between him and freedom. “Fuck!”

Bashing the oven door over and over, his frantic rhythm was interrupted by a familiar sound outside his boiling prison. A lone saxophone blaring from the radio Bertie keeps beside her sink to stave off dinnertime boredom.

George Michael.

“Is this hell? Am I doomed to burn to the sound of Careless Whisper on an infernal loop?”

I feel so unsure, as I take your hand and lead you to the dance floor

“Help me!” He screamed in vain, yanking his hand from the glass with a hiss as blisters swelled at his fingertips. His gaze dropped to the grill beneath him, reluctantly accepting his fate. “I don’t want to die in here.”

As the music dies, something in your eyes

“But you are going to die in here,” a familiar voice rasped over the music, jolting Xavier to look out. Margaret Booth stood calmly at the oven door, arms folded before her.

Calls to mind a silver screen and all its sad goodbyes

“Margaret! You’re here! Please, please help me! Let me out!” Xavier’s sore hands crashed against the glass again. “It’s... it’s so hot.”

“I don’t think so, Mr Plympton.” Margaret seethed behind gritted teeth, lips furled into a snarl. “You see, you’re trying to destroy all my hard work.”

I'm never gonna dance again, guilty feet have got no rhythm

“What?” Xavier’s jaw dropped open, his brows furrowing intently. “Margaret, I’m not trying to do anything! Please, just let me out? We can talk this through!”

Though it's easy to pretend, I know you're not a fool

“You and your friends, you’re only here to bring the forces of Satan into Redwood. This camp is a God-fearing establishment, thanks to me. But you, you and the debauched company you keep, you won’t be leaving here until you meet your God and answer for your sins.”

I should've known better than to cheat a friend

“Margaret, are—are you crazy?!” Xavier wailed weakly, pressing his eyes closed to fend off the searing heat building in the sockets and coursing through his skull. “I’m dying in here, Jingles did this!”

And waste the chance that I've been given

“At least I didn’t have to get my hands dirty,” Margaret hissed through a sinister grin. Xavier forced his eyes open and she was gone.

So I'm never gonna dance again, the way I danced with you

Scanning the room, Xavier pressed his burning hands to the glass. “Margaret, please! Don’t let me die in here!”

Time can never mend, the careless whispers of a good friend

No response came. Xavier’s eyes darted around the dark kitchen, desperate and terrified.

“Margaret, please!” He cried. “I’m so sorry!”

To the heart and mind, ignorance is kind

A tidal wave of pain rushed through his head, forcing his eyes shut again as stifling blisters swelled on his forehead and cheeks.

“I knew you were capable of apologising,” another female voice chimed in, this time less evil but nonetheless livid. His singed hairs stood on end.

There's no comfort in the truth, pain is all you'll find

“Babe... is that...,” Xavier stuttered before opening his eyes to glance at your figure propped up against the oven door, one hand resting on the glass between you. “Is it really you?”

I'm never gonna dance again, guilty feet have got no rhythm

“No, but I’m surprised you have the capacity to imagine me,” you sassed with a quick roll of your eyes. “You probably don’t even remember what colour my eyes are, let alone anything else about me.”

Xavier’s bloodshot eyes blinked away blistering hot tears welling at his lashes. “Wh—why would you say that?”

Though it's easy to pretend, I know you're not a fool

“Because you were far too busy screwing that Duke girl to look twice at your own girlfriend.”

A single searing tear formed in Xavier’s bloodshot eye and dried before it could burst its banks.

I should've known better than to cheat a friend, and waste the chance that I've been given

“Baby... I made a mistake,” he shook his head furiously, his blonde streaks curling tightly on his forehead and melting into the vicious welts as they rose on his skin. His gaze wandered to your hand fixed to the glass, wondering why your fingers weren’t yet curled around the ladle jammed in the door handle to release him. “Please, let me out and I’ll make it up to you! Please!”

So I'm never gonna dance again, the way I danced with you

“Why should I?” You retracted your hand, folding your arms to mirror Margaret’s defensive stance. “It would be so much easier if you died here, that way I’d never catch you screwing that blonde bimbo in our bed again.”

“I—,” Xavier’s head shook in accepted defeat, gazing down at his hands. Flayed skin flaked away from his knuckles, revealing the raw crimson surface beneath.

Tonight the music seems so loud, I wish that we could lose this crowd

“Your skin is peeling, Xav,” you sighed unmoved. “Soon the skin that touched mine will burn away, soon there won’t be any of you left to touch me.”

“I don’t... I don’t know what I saw in her, baby, I don’t—.”

Maybe it's better this way, we’d hurt each other with the things we want to say

“Spare me the last minute defences, please.”

He sighed to himself, drawing his boiling lip between his teeth. “I deserve this.”

We could have been so good together, we could have lived this dance forever

“Amazing,” you scoffed with a wry smirk. “You’ve accepted your imminent death before you’ll even consider apologising to me.”

“Baby I’m sorry!” Xavier pressed his palms against the glass as if reaching out to hold you, his scorching nails slowly tearing away from their beds as he pushed against. “I’m so sorry!”

But now who's gonna dance with me? Please stay

“Too little, too late, Xav,” you shook your head dismissively, walking away with a click of your tongue.

“Where—where are you going?” Xavier inched closer to the door, careful not to touch his cheek to the searing surface.

I'm never gonna dance again, guilty feet have got no rhythm

“There’s a lady out here,” you declared, crouching to the ground to examine the twitching body at your feet. “She’s dying too.”

“Bertie?” Hope burst through Xavier’s voice. “She’s alive?!”

Though it's easy to pretend, I know you're not a fool

“Barely.”

Xavier’s heart sank, dropping to his knees on the oven grating.

I should've known better than to cheat a friend, and waste the chance that I've been given

“She reminds me of your mom,” you sighed, pressing a hand to her blood-soaked hair clinging flat to her head. “Before the alcohol turned her into a monster, of course.”

“She… she’s a good person,” Xavier muttered despondently, distantly aware of the scolding metal burning through his white pants to his kneecaps. “She’s the one that doesn’t deserve this.”

So I'm never gonna dance again, the way I danced with you

You turned to Xavier with a hint of sympathy in your gaze.

“Have you never seen a slasher movie before, Xav?” Pursing your lips, you chuckled under your breath. “The troubled guy always has to fight for his life.”

“But… but how?”

“That’s another trope that might just save you,” you rose to your feet and returned to press your hands at the glass to meet his on the other side. “The good woman always saves a life in her final moments.”

Now that you're gone

“But she’s...”

“She’s slipping in and out of consciousness,” you sighed, curling your lips into a comforting crooked smile. “Make enough noise and you’ll bring her back around.”

“Wh... why are you doing this?” Xavier cried out, visibly in tears which kept evaporating before they coursed down his blistered cheeks. “If I’m so bad, why are you trying to save me?”

Touched by his concern, you leaned your forehead against the oven door.

Now that you're gone

“Because you’re in the middle of a literal horror movie and you deserve a redemption story.”

“Th… thank you,” Xavier smiled, however much it pained him to stretch his swollen and burst lips.

“Don’t thank me, thank Bertie over here,” you sighed gently, gazing over at her body wriggling in agony on the tiled floor.

“Princess,” his fragile, frantic voice shook as he leaned in closer. “When I get out of here, I’m going to change. I’ll be the best boyfriend to you, I’ll take you to see Hall & Oates, I’ll watch Grease with you — you wanted a baby, right? We can have a baby if… if you still want to?”

Now that you're gone

“Xav,” you dismissed him with a shake of your head and a deep sigh. “Just promise me something?”

“Anything, any—anything at all!”

“Think of others before yourself this time. This is your second chance at life, don’t waste it. Be brave.”

Xavier silently confirmed with an understanding nod. You leaned in to press a kiss to the glass, cool to your lips as his skin peeled at the palms against the other side.

“Use your shoulder, Xav, she’ll hear you.”

Was what I did so wrong?

Xavier squeezed his eyes shut, clinging onto the hope in your voice. When they opened again, the vision of you vanished.

“B… Ber… Bertie,” he stuttered weakly, shoving his clothed shoulder into the glass with all the strength he could muster. “Please… please help me!”

With another sharp slam into the door, Xavier looked up to see a bloodied Bertie facing him, one eye fused closed and the other bloodshot.

“Bertie!”

So wrong that you had to leave me alone?

Suddenly, she collapsed in a heap as she unhooked the ladle imprisoning him, springing the oven door open and tumbling Xavier onto the floor beside her.

His agony stepped aside for utter relief as he felt the cool breeze of the kitchen sting his wounded face.

“Be… be brave, she said,” Xavier muttered to himself, sucking in his searing hot cheeks and holding his head up. “Time to be brave. For her.”

#xavier plympton x reader #xavier plympton x reader angst #xavier plympton #cody fern #cody fern fanfiction #cody fern imagines #xavier plympton fanfiction #ahs 1984

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eirabach · 4 years ago

Text

Starcrossed [1/1]

My contribution to @pen-and-ink-week-2020 day one, prompts: camping / steady.

Gordon’s got mud in his hair and splinters in his knees and a blood blister on his palm from a mallet he had absolutely no idea how to use and Virgil -- Virgil needs to wipe that look off his face right this damn second.

“I cannot believe I let you talk me into this.”

Virgil, the bastard, is grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, you asked for my advice and my advice was to do something different and memorable. Not go bury your excrement in the woods memorable. That’s on you, kid.”

Gordon drops back onto the crinkly nylon nest he’s fashioned from their sleeping bags, and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“Oh this is a disaster. This is such a disaster. I need evac. A new name. Safe house. The works.”

Virgil sighs, and taps his tiny holographic foot against the painfully out of place pink leather overnight bag that’s jammed up against the tentpole.

“You’re being over dramatic. She hasn’t actually left.” He pauses, craning his head as though he can’t already see the entirety of the two man tent from the comm’s spot at Gordon’s feet. “Has she?”

“I have sent,” Gordon hisses between clenched teeth, “a member of the aristocracy to fetch firewood.”

“Sounds fair to me, she wants to eat right?” Virgil’s grin is so big it must physically pain him. Gordon hopes so. “Vive la revolution!”

“Vir--gil.”

“Gor-don.”

Beyond the gentle rustling of the wind through the redwoods and the sound of his own internal mental breakdown, comes a high pitched and familiar yelp. Gordon scrambles upright as best he can, clutching the comm to his chest with unsteady hands.

“Oh god, she’s coming back.”

“Yeah, that was the plan right? Gordon --” Virgil’s not grinning quite as big anymore and his voice turns gentle. “It’s gonna be okay. It’s Penelope. And you. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Gordon grimaces, peeling back the tent’s zipper far enough to see her, her hair tucked up under a worn IR branded bobble hat, her back to him as she drops an armful of kindling into the centre of the clearing. “Yeah, I mean, she could realise. And run. Yeah, that’s pretty much what I’m worried about.”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Gordon --”

“Gordon!”

Virgil squarks unhappily as Gordon tosses the comm over his shoulder.

“Hey! Hi, yes. Hello.”

The tip of Penelope’s nose is pink from the autumn chill, and when she smiles it scrunches up tight as the band that seems to have appeared around his chest..

“You sound surprised to see me.” She moves to peer around him and into the tent proper. ”What are you up to in there?”

“Nothing?”

“Really?” She steps back, gesturing to the woodpile. “Well, since you’re a gentleman of leisure, does this meet with your approval?”

Gordon winces, and begins struggling to extradite himself from the really very much too small tent. Yet another plan that had seemed like such a good idea at the time.

“I didn’t mean like, nothing nothing.”

“Oh of course.” Penelope nods sagely. “The other sort of nothing.”

“Yeah exactl -- Bertie!” A tiny flash of cream and black comes barrelling into him as he tries to untangle the zip, sending Gordon flying back into the tent in a cacophony of tearing fabric. He scrambles back up and stares at the tent door, which is now hanging morosely in raggedy strips. “This is -- kinda a disaster isn’t it?”

Penelope pops her hands on her hips, and smiles down at him fondly.

“Oh I don’t know, I can’t see any Thunderbirds swooping down to save the day.”

Gordon groans. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Oh come along, darling. Fresh air, nature, what’s not to love?” She steps forward, and drops to her knees in the leaf mulch before him. “You’re not getting spoiled by your tropical island lifestyle are you?”

“Uh, this was my idea?”

“So I recall. Sold to me on the promise of ‘smores and cuddling and really darling --” she taps her watch. “I seem to be suffering from a distinct lack of either.”

Gordon slaps at the remains of the tent doorway and clambers out, pulling Penelope to her feet as he does so. Behind them Bertie is busy tugging a tartan blanket free, his tail wagging frantically as he wraps himself up in it.

“Sorry,” he says, wrapping his arms around her waist and swaying slightly as she leans back to place her own arms around his neck. “That’s very remiss of me.”

“Very,” she says, and goes to rest her cheek on his shoulder. “Is there something wrong, Gordon?”

The leaves crunch under their feet and Gordon buries his nose in the soft wool of the ugly hat. It smells like her perfume and ozone and island heat and he’d wondered where she’d gone and got it from and huh, now he knows.

“You stole my hat.”

“I borrowed it.”

“That’s a crime, Penelope.”

“Are you trying to change the subject?”

“Are you trying to get away with stealing my hat?”

Penelope draws back, soft smile replaced by a line between her brows that makes Gordon’s chest hurt. “You can have it back, you know.”

“No -- god no. You look way better in it than I ever did anyway,” he smiles a little brighter for her, and kisses the line until it melts away. “Sorry if I’m being weird. I kinda -- I don’t know. Nervous, I guess.”

And then she’s smiling again, and the world rights itself slightly. “I am threateningly attractive in this hat.”

“Oh, very.”

“And you do have to prove your manliness to me.”

“Oh?” The world tilts again, but for very different reasons as Penny pushes her body against his. “I think I can probably --”

And then she’s gone, practically prancing across the clearing to the pile of wood. She holds two pieces up, her lip between her teeth, and wriggles her eyebrows at him.

“You promised me ‘smores.”

---

He proves his manly worth eventually, and the campfire he coaxed and wheedled into existence burns bright as the full moon rises overhead.

He’d brought camp chairs, but they sit abandoned where he’d dumped them, and the two of them lie side by side on the blanket Bertie had liberated, cooling cups of tea at their sides, their breathing steady and rhythmic under a spinning, starbright sky.

“It rather puts everything into perspective, don’t you think?”

“Hmm?”

Penelope waves a hand up at the sky. “All -- all of everything. Sometimes it all can feel a little overwhelming, and then I think -- well.” She drops her hand, wriggles a little closer into his side. “I think that sometimes it’s all too easy to forget that this whole planet of ours -- every one on it -- we are so terribly tiny aren’t we?”

“Jesus, Pen.” He pinches her side slightly, squeezing his arm underneath her as she jumps and pulling her as tight against him as he can manage. “I get enough short jokes at home.”

“Oh ha ha, I don’t mean that in a bad way --”

“That I’m short?”

She smacks at his belly, and her laugh rings through the trees and out into the universe. “Gordon!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

Penny shakes her head slightly. She’s lost the hat at some point during the evening, and her hair catches on the rough blanket, tickles his nose. “I just -- sometimes I need reminding that I’m allowed this, that’s all. That we have a place.”

“Tell me about it.” It’s hardly more than a breath, hardly out loud at all, but Penny’s hand settles on his where it lies at her waist and her fingers twist tight between his own.

The moonlight forms a silvery halo around her upturned face, her soft breaths forming little puffs of cloud that float and fizzle away in the chill night air, and it’s just the two of them, the rest of the world banished from the circle of the campfire’s light. It’s -- it’s a moment.

Gordon’s other hand settles in the pocket of his jacket, and he grips the velveteen box tightly as he tries to steady his nerves. Imagines Virgil, the way he’d rolled his eyes and said, what’s the worst that could happen?

And Gordon looks at Penelope and Penelope looks at the stars and he thinks forever.

I could lose this forever.

And he thinks -- he thinks -- he can’t.

He uncurls his fingers from the box, slips his hand free to thumb at a chocolatey smear on her cheek. Penelope turns her face into the palm of his hand and sighs.

“Thank you,” she says. “I needed this.”

Gordon goes to scoff, but then she’s dipping her head to drop a kiss to his wrist and his heartbeat skitters and skips under her lips.

“Take me to bed?”

She doesn’t have to ask twice.

---

Morning has brought a bright autumnal dawn, perfect yellow light pouring through the poorly pinned doorway to settle on the dew damp curls at Penelope’s temples, freckles burnished gold against her cheeks.

He’s seen a lot of beautiful things in his life. Beautiful places. Corals, neon pink and orange in a turquoise sea, otherworldly sunsets, cave systems that glow lilac with phosphorescence, the way a mother’s face twists when he places their lost baby back in their arms.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything as beautiful as this.

Penny’s all twisted up in the sleeping bags, the zips long abandoned, her hair wild with static, her arm thrown over her head. There’s a pug snoring between her knees, her elbow’s half an inch from his nose, her lips are chapped from the chill air, and he loves her. God, but he loves her.

And Gordon -- Gordon can’t help it. He leans over, kisses the tip of her cold nose and whispers;

“Marry me.”

Blue eyes snap open shrewd and bright, so bright, that the part of Gordon that’s not currently freaking the fuck out wonders, briefly, if her perfect peaceful sleep was just a bit too perfect. “Pardon?”

Oh, oh this is not the way this is meant to happen. No. No way. He wriggles away from her as best he can, backs himself right up until the tent is sticking to his back and Penny -- Penny is staring at him as though he’s actually lost the plot.

He’s totally lost the plot.

She’s worrying her lip between her teeth, that furrow back between her brows and oh god he’s fucking this up isn’t he. He knew he would. He knew it. “Gordon, did you --”

“No! No, not -- not no -- just hang on -- hang on I was meant to do this -- stand up.” He gestures, a tad wildly, and Penelope blinks at him. Maybe she had actually been sleeping after all. Maybe he can convince her this is some sort of terrible nightmare.

“I -- excuse me?”

He takes an unsteady breath, attempts to gather whatever wits he possesses, and scuffles around for his discarded jacket. His fingers finally close around the box, and he squeezes his eyes shut. At least he’s already on his knees. “You gotta -- you gotta stand up.”

“I don’t think -- “ she starts, but then he’s pulling the box out of his pocket and even though he literally would rather okay face a tsunami naked than open his eyes, he can still hear her sharp intake of breath. Oh god.

“Okay -- okay darling, look at me all right?” He opens one eye, risks a glance upward to see her bent almost double, the cross pole of the tent across her shoulders. “There now, better?”

“Penelope --”

Maybe he feels the tension, or maybe he is just a tiny little asshole, but this, this moment, is the very moment Bertie chooses to rouse from his slumber and leap up at Penelope’s legs.

He launches himself with such force that the slippery nylon that makes up their bed shifts, and Penelope, already off balance and folded like a half shut knife, jumps in shock. The cross pole shudders and -- oh, shit.

Penelope lands in a heap, and the tent follows her collapsing on top of them like one of grandma’s souffles. Bertie whimpers unhappily, wriggling his way free of a sea of wet nylon to force himself bodily between them. He laps at Gordon’s shaking hand, then looks up at Penny with huge, innocent eyes.

Bertie, Gordon decides, has been spending far too much time with Parker.

He goes to tell Penny as much, but to his horror he sees big, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, her eyes red and rimmed black with yesterday’s mascara. He scans her for wounds, protruding tent poles, anything that might explain the funny little gasping sounds she’s making, as though she can’t quite catch her breath.

“Are you hurt? What -- did you sprain something? Tell me where it hurts.”

Penelope shakes her head fiercely. “No, no I’m not hurt.”

She half laughs, a strained, breathless little thing, and moves to hover her hand over the little box.

Gordon looks down. Penelope might be not quite touching it, but Bertie is resting his nose against the golden clasp holding it closed and looking up at Gordon like --

Like even the dog can’t quite believe the mess he’s making of this.

“Oh don’t -- I’m sorry Penny, I’m sorry-- don’t cry. Oh wow, this has gone even worse than I expected.”

She laughs again, he can feel it against the crown of his head as he tries very hard to curl up into himself and disappear entirely. “Gordon Tracy, you are the most ridiculous man --”

“Don’t rub it in Pen, jeez.”

“Will you let me finish?” Her voice is sharp, and he snaps his head up. She’s smiling all the same, even though her cheeks are still streaked with tears “Thank you.” He just nods, lost for words, lost entirely and just waiting for her next words to set him back up. To show him where to go. They’re close enough in the wreckage of the tent for her to rest her forehead against his, her words quite as a whisper but all the clearer for them. “You asked me once if you were my favourite.”

Gordon swallows hard. “Yeah. I remember.”

She smiles, and their noses knock together. “Ask me again.”

“Am I your favourite?”

A huff of breath against his mouth. Irritable, but so close, so much closer than he’d ever thought he deserved. “Not that.”

“Wh--” And she pulls back, just enough. Just enough that he can see himself reflected in her pupils, blown wide and dark and waiting. “Oh.”

“Oh. And I’m not getting up.”

He spares a glance around them, the tent now more a cocoon than anything else. “Don’t think either of us are.”

“Gordon.” She reaches for the box with shaking hands, opens it, pulls out the ring and presses it into his hand. Rose gold. Pink, of course. Pretty and delicate and set with a stone that has outlived its last owner by some twenty years. There’s a scar across its surface, avalanche blue, but he kinda likes that. The promise of outlasting whatever the universe throws at them. Penelope’s breath catches, as she withdraws her right hand to scrub at flushed cheeks, leaves her left in his. “Ask me again.”

“Oh. Right.” There’s that. The asking. He takes another deep breath. Steadier. Certain. “Penelope,” he says, and man she’s still crying but she’s nodding and that -- that seems positive, right? He powers on. There’d been a speech. He’d practiced it on Alan, who’d swooned very beautifully right off the balcony and into the pool. He doesn’t bother with it now. Sticks to the basics. “I am an idiot.”

“Yes you are,” she agrees, and her smile, her smile is brighter than the sunshine, brighter than anything. It’s the only light he needs, the only hope.

“Do you think you could maybe marry me anyway?”

She kisses him, hot and open, tears salty on her lips and a plea on her tongue and together --

Together they taste like yes.

#pen&inkweek2020 #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #gordon tracy #penelope creighton ward #clare vs writers block

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if-you-built-yourself-a-myth · 3 years ago

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Check Ignition: Part VIII

The Sobbe fake-dating Hogwarts AU that one person requested and I dove into headfirst

First part // Previous part // Next part

Send me requests for other fics, ideas for this one, opinions, whatever! My apologies if the quality seems to have one downhill; I'll be doing minor edits for the sake of readability when I have a good chunk of free time.

“Shhh, guys, leave it,” Jens said. Everyone’s comments died on their tongues. Zoë and Moyo herded the superfluous students from the room and left as well, shutting the door behind. Moyo almost clapped a hand on Robbe’s shoulder, but seemed to think better of it in favor of a saddened smile. It didn’t really help. Robbe wasn’t sure if they ended tonight on good terms.

“We’re going to bed early,” Aaron suggested. “We have to get a jump on those damn exams.”

“Leave it,” hissed Jens.

“I was just saying, we’re—”

“Leave it.”

“It’s a good idea,” said Robbe. “We’re going to bed early.” He hadn’t realized how angry he was all week until faced with its culmination. And now—now he was tired. Stupid and single and tired.

There were still no sheets on his bed; he hadn’t gotten around to doing anything with them. He could perform a cleaning spell on the mattress if it got too bad in their absence. Whatever. Robbe couldn’t be bothered to rifle through his trunk for a cleaner blanket, so he crossed the room and grabbed the one off the fourth bed.

Motherfucker. It smelled like Sander. He really couldn’t win, could he? Robbe threw the blanket to the decimated floor and curled up without any covering at all.

“He wasn’t that attractive,” said Jens, breaking his own rule. “Had to get those roots done again.”

Robbe clamped his pillow over his ears. “Shut up.”

“We haven’t been to Hogsmede in a while. Might be nice to go tomorrow. The four of us.”

Hogsmede. Robbe’s eyes burned.

“I need to stop at Honeyduke’s,” Aaron agreed. “It’s Live It Up week.”

“I’d fancy a pint at the Three Broomsticks.”

The Three Broomsticks. Robbe was not going to cry over this. It brought him back to Sander explaining their fake love story to Zoë, all the little accurate details, all the possibility… that’s all it was. A story. You don’t like me. He cast the Muffliato charm across his four-poster before the tears started flowing. Once they started, they didn’t stop until morning.

“You don’t have to tell us a thing,” Jens said. “We understand.”

I want to, Robbe thought. He rolled over and faced the wall for the remainder of the night.

***

As much as he would love to hardcore sulk, Robbe had never been that kind of person. Sander was gone. They weren’t even together for that long, so there wasn’t much sulking warranted. He took Saturday and Sunday as unofficial off-days before exams, in that he spent them with Jens, Moyo, and Aaron, pointedly not talking about Sander. They did not go to the Three Broomsticks. Jens passed a whole afternoon in Honeyduke’s, attempting to sample every flavor of Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavor beans.

Okay, Robbe sulked. But not hardcore.

Robbe resolved that one Monday he would snap out of it in time to guard his outstandingin his five classes. What should he do? What had he learned? He could start there. Starting there was something.

1. He should never drop a class for someone he wasn’t really dating.

Robbe’s Potions exam was the first on Monday, and he went into it grossly unprepared, despite hours of common room studying. There was a large difference between reading theory and enacting what it said. Plus, a lot of his library time focused more on Sander’s eyes than on the written material.

Everyone else chopped up their beans and sprinkled them into their brews without difficulty. Robbe couldn’t remember how many he should use. In the end, he dumped a whole handful in completely whole and stirred counter-clockwise. How much could it hurt, anyway? He left fifteen minutes before the exam period was up, and the Potions master did not bother to stop him. The Drought of Living Death he prepared could probably kill the whole class, Britt and all, even if not in the way it was meant to.

Why had he stopped attending in person? What could Britt have done to him? It hit him—she probably knew the dating thing was fake from the beginning. Sander might have planned it all out to make Robbe look like an idiot.

That wouldn’t account for that night in the workshop.

Fuck that night in the workshop.

Sander waited outside the Potions classroom, his back on the wooden doorframe. Britt would be done soon. It didn’t give Robbe any satisfaction to brush by Sander without speaking—or at least, not until he saw Sander rubbing his arm in the aftermath. Robbe must have hit him with the door.

“Sorry,” he called over his shoulder, hoping it sounded blasé.

It could have been anyone there, he thought. Sander wasn’t special anymore. Then he went to his bedroom and stared at the wall over it.

2. He was not straight.

The specifics were, as of yet, unclear. He was in love with Sander, which meant he liked boys, but he’d kind of liked Noor too. Not romantically. Or even sexually. But like, he enjoyed her company.

Sometimes.

He wasn’t in love with Sander anymore, though, definitely not. Robbe figured if he told himself that at least four to five times a day, it might become a little more accurate. Two weeks was too short a time to fall for someone.

After all this, he needed to get Jens alone and lay it all on at once. Bad phrasing be damned. The boys began packing their belongings on Wednesday, after a mostly uneventful Transfiguration exam (Moyo turned his cockroach into a pair of earrings that still moved their spindly antennae—he seemed satisfied). They would leave on Saturday afternoon. Aaron tried a simple cleaning spell, Scourgify, and ended up scattering his belongings to the four corners of the castle. He scurried away to pack the rest manually, Moyo at his heels to help.

Jens and Robbe were alone. Robbe was ready to talk about it.

“Why is Moyo always here?” asked Jens, in a way that made it sound like he was breaking the tension.

His plan failed, of course, because Robbe was already speaking. “We have to talk about something.”

They stared at each other. Jens blinked.

“There’s a lot I haven’t told you,” Robbe began. “I wanted to, but it was always so complicated.”

“Uh, sure, okay.” Jens shoved a crumpled shirt into his trunk, followed by a pair of ripped slacks he could never wear to class again.

“This thing I had with Sander… it was fake to him. But, well, uh, to me—”

Jens nodded. “I know.”

Damnit, no.

“Jens,” Robbe tried a second time, “I’ve realized some things about myself recently. They kind of explain other things, from earlier, so…” He switched tactics. Who knew how long until Moyo and Aaron returned? “Do you remember when you and Jana broke up? How you found out about what’s-his-name and—”

Another shirt in the trunk. Some more destroyed pants. “Yeah.”

“Cool. So um, you should understand that it was—” It was never this awkward to talk to Jens before. Jens was supposed to be easy. Robbe folded his shirts by hand, like his mother did, and placed them carefully in his own luggage as he thought of how best to phrase this. “I did it on purpose. She was gonna tell you and I—well I said—”

“You’re not making sense.”

“I know things about myself now. Learned them. From that. and this.” Here it came, the big jump. Even though Robbe knew Jens, Aaron, and Moyo outlined a whole plan to get him and Sander together, he still worried about what they’d say when confronted with the reality of it. “Jens, I’m—"

“I know.”

No, that wouldn’t work. Again, “Jens, please, I’m—”

“It’s okay, Robbe, I know—”

“I don’t want you to know!” Robbe flopped a shirt down harder than he intended. “I want you to let me say it.” He took a deep breath. “I’m gay. That’s who I am. With or without Sander. Okay? I need you to understand that it’s like that with or without him.”

“I—”

“Don’t say you know. You’re my best friend.”

“Okay,” said Jens. “I understand.”

“Good.”

Jens closed his trunk on top of some clothing that spilled out the sides. He sat down on it to close the latch. Then he reached out and gathered Robbe into the tightest hug ever. It wasn’t nearly everything that Robbe wanted to say, but it was some, and Jens didn’t run away from him. Sexuality crisis, somewhat had. Robbe was sure there would be more later.

3. You don’t like me.

Robbe’s final exam was History of Magic. Luckily, his cramming paid off. He breezed through the questions on the first and second wars faster than any of his peers and was out the door within thirty minutes.

Most students were trapped in their classrooms for another half-hour or more. Empty corridor stretched in all directions, and Robbe didn’t have anything to do for the rest of the day. He knew where he wanted to go.

Sure enough, his astronomy tower perch was vacant. Bright sunlight dyed the campus in shades of yellow and gold, made the upper turrets appear as drawings from a children’s book. Robbe noted in passing that someone had collected Sander’s picnic blanket from its forlorn position on the roof. That made sense. Filch himself must have cleaned.

From overhead, soft music played. Robbe was sure he was hallucinating. He sat down on the sill.

Oh fuck, maybe not hallucinating. Noon cast a shadow of someone above onto the roof below.

Sander’s blanket wasn’t where he’d dropped it on night one because Sander sat on the overhang above the window. He had it splayed across the shingles, a compact player oozing the final lines of that same damn song on a loop, his wand gripped in his hands.

Robbe couldn’t escape him. Couldn’t escape how he felt about him. He could bring it under his control if he made it look purposeful.

“Hey,” he said. “Don’t you have class?”

Sander startled.

This was a mistake. Never mind. Robbe should go.

He leaned even further out the window for a better view of Sander’s setup. A stack of textbooks balanced precariously, end on end, held aloft by a complicated charm of some sort. A quill rolled down the roof and stopped as if by an invisible wall. Sander had created a bubble for his things.

“Cheers to exams,” Robbe said, a bit louder. Sander did not look at him. The music cranked itself up to mask Robbe’s voice—perhaps it was spelled to muffle all noise Sander did not want to hear. That wasn’t fair. “This is my spot.”

“You said you didn’t want to be friends,” said Sander. He didn’t sound upset. Why did Robbe expect him to be upset?

“Can you turn down the music?”

“Britt’s going to join me.”

“That isn’t really what I asked.” Robbe wondered if interactions like this would ever stop hurting. But he didn’t feel as bad as he felt last week. Or on Friday night. Maybe the finality of a no was all he needed to move on. He recalled Sander’s speech word-for-word, mostly the end. You don’t like me.

It hit Robbe in a moment of irrational bravery, when Sander’s music dialed up in volume. Their first night in the astronomy tower, together, illuminated by Britt’s wand. The CD playing in the background. Sander knew what he was wearing on a specific double-date on a specific day—there was no denying something existed between them.

And to have Sander talk like that, say it was nothing… it wasn’t nothing, not to Robbe, and Sander needed to hear it.

So he said it. No introduction, no nothing. “I liked you.”

The Major-Tom-planet song quieted. Definitely some kind of magic there.

“I liked you so much,” he said again. Now that it existed, now that it was said, there was nothing to stop him from continuing. “You can’t tell me I didn’t.”

One of Sander’s quills rolled to the edge of the bubble, only this time, it dropped out and fell the length of the tower.

“We made it up, we agreed,” Sander whispered. “I’m sorry.” He slid down from the roof, landing beside Robbe on the sill, then jumped to the floor. His belongings trailed behind him in a floating line.

Robbe stood his ground and blocked the staircase. “It’s not your thing to decide.” His voice softened. “I liked you. So that’s that. And it’s done.”

Sander scuffed the floor with his shoe.

“Good. You never have to see me again.” Robbe pointed down the stairs for dramatic effect. “I have class. Bye.”

He felt lighter than he had all week when he descended the staircase. Any lighter, and he would have missed it when Sander said, “I liked you, too.”

4. He was a jerk to Noor.

Robbe sought her out on the train home, abandoning his friends in their own little compartment. They had plenty to discuss without his involvement. Pranks and whatnot. The usual. Noor was alone in a compartment near the back of the train, a dozen or so scrolls of parchment dispersed around her. She wrote on one with a broken quill.

She wasn’t a bad person. Robbe should have just told her. The least he could do was tell her when everything was over.

“Hey,” he said, taking the seat across from her.

She looked up, surprised. “Hello.”

“You seemed like you could use some company.”

Noor blushed. “No, I—Britt’s sitting elsewhere, and I have a lot to do.”

“With Sander,” Robbe supplied.

“What?”

“Britt’s with Sander.”

“Oh, um, actually—”

Robbe wasn’t in the mood for the nitty-gritty details of whatever Britt and Sander had going on. Obviously it was toxic. Not his problem. Besides, this conversation was for Noor’s sake, not his own.

“Listen, about me and him,” he said. “I need to apologize. It wasn’t fair of me to lead you on.” He hoped it wouldn’t get awkward. The extent of his recent planning was pretty much just say it without warning and hope it works out.

“I don’t read smoke signals,” said Noor curtly. She set her quill down on the seat next to her, ink stains bleeding into the cushioning. “But I get it.”

“No, it was fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

Awkward silence. Robbe wasn’t built for prolonged chatter with anyone besides Jens, Moyo, and Aaron. The girls’ group was the exception, and only when Jana and Zoë were present. He fiddled with the beginning of a hole in his yellow sweater.

“I suppose I should apologize too,” said Noor, after a while. “That was fucked up, to say he’d get bored of you. I was a little—well, you know.”

“If it helps,” Robbe said, “you were right.”

Noor frowned. She sat up in her seat, and her parchment fell to the carriage floor. The sweets trolley passed by their sliding doorway without stopping—its driver could likely sense the tension. Robbe explained, “He’s back with Britt.”

“No, he isn’t,” said Noor. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Jana said—”

“Who would know better: Jana, or me?”

Robbe fumbled for something to say in response. Actually, now was a pretty good time to get out, before the topic became any more serious. He said, “He broke up with me.”

“It wasn’t for Britt. She helped him through some stuff, sure, but everyone knows that train’s come and gone.”

“I guess I’m just boring,” Robbe said.

“Bullshit.” Noor picked up her parchment again. She dipped her quill into her ink and began her writing anew, on whatever mess this was. Robbe couldn’t read fucking cursive. “I don’t believe it. Britt says he adored you.”

Robbe didn’t know what to make of that. There was no way he could segue into his next point, which was, of course, that their dating arrangement wasn’t real in the first place, especially after something so honest from Noor. He gave a bullshit excuse, something about chasing the sweets trolley, and got the hell out of there.

***

Robbe said goodbye to Moyo on the train platform. Jens and Aaron lived close enough that their parents parked in the same general vicinity, meaning that they could walk over as a trio. Robbe considered awaiting Sander on the platform as well. Every time he learned something new about Sander’s behavior when he wasn’t there, he got more and more confused. What fake relationship could be convincing enough to have Sander’s ex lamenting its reality?

The boys shared idle gossip on their way to the parking lot. Nothing substantial. Robbe’s head was too full of thoughts, most of them Sander-related. He wasn’t angry, or upset, or tired right now. How did knowing one little thing from Noor make a difference in his overall mood? They split off to their respective parents with casual goodbyes and a promise to write at least once during the holidays.

“Hey,” called Jens, just as Robbe opened the shotgun side.

Robbe turned back, his rucksack swinging off his shoulder. He swiped a hand across his eyes.

“Were you in love with him? Actually?”

They spent two weeks together. Two weeks, plus months and months of pining from afar that couldn’t count for much. It was supposed to last longer. What had Sander said, that day after their date? He wanted it to continue through the holiday break. And now, nothing. Robbe summarized this feeling the only way he knew how: “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

He climbed into his mother’s waiting car, and with that, it was Christmastime at the Ijzermans house.

#sobbe #wtfock #sander driesen #robbe ijzermans #hogwarts au #fake dating #fanfiction #sobbe fanfic

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ducktoonsfanart · 3 years ago

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New drawings related to models, redraws and portraits. I've already done this with Donald's nephews Huey, Dewey and Louie, and you can check it out here: https://ducktoonsfanart.tumblr.com/post/675571066286047232/after-a-long-break-from-drawing-here-is-my-new

This time I did it with other characters from Duckverse who are my favorites. The first is Daisy Duck, which is in a classic style, but as a design from Ducktales 2017 with her beautiful dress and that version is one of the best versions of Daisy Duck for me. She's definitely Donald's best girlfriend.

The second drawing is Grand Mogul or Bertie McGoose in Topolino comics and I used it from Italian comics. By the way, he is the leader of Junior Woodchucks, mostly in comics, and no, he is not Launchpad. Plus he's one of Donald's best friends.

The third drawing represents Fethry Duck, one of Donald’s best cousins. He is a very nice, clumsy, a little impatient and a little stupid, but very emotional duck. Yes, he usually wears a red sweater and a red hat, although in some Brazilian comics he wears a yellow sweater. He is definitely Donald's best cousin for me.

The fourth drawing represents Donald Duck as Duck Avenger or Paperinik. Yes, this is more like the basis of Duck Avenger, but Donald likes to be an avenger or superhero in which he shows up very well either when he takes revenge on Scrooge or Gladstone or when he attacks the Beagle Boys, Mad Ducktor or Emil Eagle. In many European ones, especially in Italian comics, it is expressed and it is certainly in my opinion one of the best Donald roles ever. In PKNA and those sequels, Paperinik has an even more special role and is different from the basis of the Duck Avenger series.

The fifth drawing represents Gyro Gearloose from Ducktales in 1987. Although Gyro is great in Italian comics, in the original Ducktales Gyro has a special place in my memory, so I am glad that he is a very pleasant inventor, although sometimes his inventions do not go well. Of course there is also his assistant, Little Helper.

I hung two photos of the same drawing here, because one is without the artist's signature, and the other is with the signature, just to know that the signature is mine. ;) I hope you like these drawings and there will be more drawings related to the characters from Duckverse and the Donald Duck universe.

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radariant · 5 years ago

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marry me 💍💍💍

Happy belated Bertthday, loathsome nemesis @radariant 🗡🗡🗡🗡🗡🗡🗡🗡🗡🗡🗡🗡🗡 here is your horrible man doing *~ordinary cleric things~* & the Employee Of The Month who deserves better

#This is genuinely so terrifying and creepy and all the details are amazing!!#the rose thorn/tentacle motif is SO cool and makes so much sense I'm seething with jealousy i didn't think of it myself #the eldritch not-berties are so unsettling and difficult to percieve it's super excellent i love them!!!#I've STILL not gotten the chance to use it but i have a spell where Bertie makes 3 duplicates of himself appear too so this is future canon #genuinely unnerving looking directly at this I'm in awe #the posing is really well done too i don't think I'd be able to draw that without immense frustration it's so impressively done!!#poor poor tannip she sure lucked out working for the best most legitimate ordinary businessman ever yikes #i love her expression and the fade down for emphasis it's perfect #this is just incredible i just adore it I keep looking back on it what a fantastic piece #so so creepy I'm extremely impressed #uh i mean i loathe and detest this and you and my day is tenfold worse upon having to witness such travesty and slander on my good holyman #also very chuffed there's no nude karras in sight #thank you so much for this it's incredible! this is so very kind of you especially given you're so busy with studies at the moment too!#i really hope everything is going okay with it and you're managing okay too deff let me know if i can help in any way #thank you very much again my dearest 💜🗡💜🗡💜🗡💜🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸#bertie #bertolt beiwarin #wyverns & weirdos #wyverns and weirdos #my ocs #body horror

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faithfulcat111 · 4 years ago

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Rewatching A Very Potter Sequel (honestly, it may be my favourite of the series which is a darn shame when we don't get a Brian R solo, but oh well). Had to split this one into two parts, so my favourite parts from Act 1, under the cut:

I'm gonna go ahead and say up top that Lucius and his dramatic dancing is one of my favourite things

Also Yakley in general

'Damn those wizard cops!'

It's Not Over Yet in general

'He marries Ginny. They live happily ever after. There is literally no way to move forward from this point.'

'Do you follow me?' 'No.'

The Weasley's in general

The Weasley sweaters

Arthur trying to work a muggle camera

Harry and Ron bonding over their mutual love of red vines

'Where have you been all my life?' 'Oh, in a cupboard under some stairs.'

The crocodile story

'You're Harry Freakin' Potter!'

The difference of Ron and Harry entering the train compartment

Harry giving Ron his headband

'Do you want a rat?' 'Ah!' 'It's my rat!' 'Oh, your rat!'

The Berty-Bots Every Flavour Beans

'What did you get?' 'Defeat.'

The candy lady slowly going across the background of the scene

The death eater replacing the candy lady

Remus on the train, literally everything about this scene is great

Snape's introduction

'I won't pretend to know.'

'I thought the traitor Sirius Black was my dad's best friend.' 'No, who told you that?' *later* 'It was probably blasphemy.'

Darren's voice

'WHO DARES DISTURB MY SLUMBER!'

The fact that no one questions Remus's weird behaviour about werewolves

'He said cute, he could only be talking about me.'

'There's no way we're losing to Slytherin or Ravenclaw or Jigglypuff.'

Dean just hitting Seamus in the stomach and him curling up slowly on the ground

Hermione Can't Draw scene

Coolest Girl is such a great song

Also Bonnie's voice

'Oh, Potter, where was I?' 'You were telling me to sit on a knife.'

'No! I am your dad's traitor best friend, no! I am your dad's traitor, no! I am your dad's best friend.'

'Don't go to the Shrieking Shack, I'm a werewolf in there.' 'Wait, what?'

Umbridge's face when she says Dumbledore

Getting Along is also a good song. I don't like this story arc, but damn is this song good

'And two days later, he died.'

'I'll give a big, fat kiss to whoever is brave enough to go in.' 'I'll do it.' 'Herman?' 'Here's the thing Herman, I'm not kissing you.'

'Lumos!' *pulls flashlight out*

Harry and Ron trying to actually say Hermione's name and just utterly failing

*sees a very obvious werewolf* 'IT'S A VAMPIRE!'

Harry actually landing Hermione's name right once and immediately forgetting it

'Or cool like Snape.' *puts arm up, forgetting Snape isn't there*

'And I for one would love to have a friend you could do my Ancient Runes essay.' 'Really?' 'Yeah cause it's due tomorrow.'

'You're so soft.' '*completely wrong person* Thanks!'

The whole scene with Remus covered in blood trying to explain why he was found next to a dead doe to Rita Skeeter

'That's bambi's mom.'

'I did the only thing that would make the situation less awkward for everyone.' 'What?' 'I disapperated.'

'Did you get my text?' 'Yes.' 'Well you didn't text me back.'

Lucius's return and his dramatic dance moves

'Daddy! You came to love me!'

'Who knew the counter-curse was just unjellify!'

'hoW DAAAAAAAAAAARE!!!!'

*opening very clearly book-shaped package* 'I hope it's a puppy. Puppy! Puppy! Puppy!'

'Sirius Black!' 'Sirius Bla- oh checkmate.' 'Sirius Black!'

'If you yell, it only makes Sirius want to kill you faster.'

'I'M IN A RAGE!'

Those Voices - such a beautiful song

'Unjellify!' 'Harry, he's too much for us!'

Everyone immediately forgetting that Harry is in the room the minute he puts the invisibility cloak on

Sirius's first reaction to being revealed being to insult Snape.

'How can you let that criminal into the castle?' 'Especially in that outfit!'

'You can't disapperate inside of Hogwarts! Right?' *some audience member*: 'Right!' 'Right!'

#faith talks #rewatch #starkid #a very potter sequel

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fruitquake · 5 years ago

Note

Anonymous messages or gifts from remus to sirius, who's desperately trying to figure out who it is Btw I love your blog

aww, thank you! here you go, i hope this is alright

“Still haven’t figured out who that secret admirer of yours is?”

Remus kept his head in his book, discreetly listening in on James and Sirius’ conversation.

“No, but whoever it is must know me pretty well,” Sirius answered. They were all sitting in the common room, James and Sirius playing a game of wizard chess while Remus read.

“Like, the last gift i got? How could this person know how much I love fizzing whizzbees? And the little note attached had another cute drawing of me! I really don’t know who could do something like this.”

James hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe you have a stalker,” he suggested. “You are quite popular with the ladies.”

Sirius chuckled, as though James had said something incredibly funny.

The whole gift and note thing had started off as a one-time thing, just to cheer Sirius up. He had been pretty down in the dumps because of some shit with his family, so in an attempt to lighten his mood - or at least distract him - Remus had left a little package and a handwritten note by Sirius’ bed. And it had worked just as it intended it, so Remus had done it again, then again, and now it had become a regular thing.

It was beginning to be a problem, though, because Sirius and James had started playing detectives, trying to figure out who were behind the gifts. A few times, Remus had left notes confessing his feelings for Sirius - something he would otherwise never have done. If Sirius found out he was the anonymous gift-sender, he would also know about Remus’ feelings, and what would happen then? That would probably be the end of that friendship, Remus thought, praying to whichever god that Sirius would never know who were behind the gifts.

Sirius slumped over the desk, a distant look in his tired eyes. Remus had intended on waiting til the weekend with the next gift, but it seemed that his friend needed it more now.

While the rest of the students went to lunch, Remus walked the other way to the Gryffindor dorms. He rummaged in his own suitcase for a while before finding what he was looking for: a small package of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. Sirius loved these - especially the gross ones, for some reason.

Remus hadn’t written a note to go with the small gift yet. He sat down, opening his notebook at an empty page.

What to write? He could draw another little portrait of Sirius? No, he’d done that multiple times already. Quoting his favourite poets was also something he had tried, but Sirius didn’t know them anyway. Finally, he put quill to paper and wrote:

“You may not see it always, but you shine brighter than the star you were named after.” He doodled stars all over the paper, before tearing out the page and folding it, walking to Sirius’ bed to put it there along with the pack of Bertie Bott’s.

Right as he was about to do so, the door opened.

“What are you doing?” Sirius asked.

Remus tried to hide the gift behind his back but it was too late. Sirius was by his side in a few long strides, reaching around him to try and grab the things.

“What’s that? Let me see!”

Sirius was so close to Remus he could smell his shampoo, his cologne, him. It paralyzed him long enough for Sirius to grab the little gift and note out of his hands.

“What is this?” he asked.

Before Remus could stop him, Sirius had opened the note, eyes widening as he, without a doubt, recognized the handwriting.

Remus blushed, desperately searching for words. “It’s not, uhm…”

Sirius looked from the note to Remus, eyes lighting up. “You’re behind the anonymous gifts?”

Was there really any point in denying it at this point? Remus sighed, sitting down on Sirius’ bed. “Yeah, I am,” he muttered, dreading Sirius’ response.

This was when Sirius would remember the personal notes Remus had sent, confessing his love for him. This was when Sirius would realize that he, Remus, was madly in love with him, and then what would happen? He probably wouldn’t want to be friends anymore. Maybe he would refuse to even be near him. Remus began preparing himself mentally for asking McGonagall if he could change dorms. His chest ached. Was today, when Sirius had reached around him to grab the gift and note, really the last time Remus would feel his friend’s warmth?

Remus was slumped on his bed, face in hands. He looked beautiful like this. He always looked beautiful. When he was bent over his homework, brows furrowed in concentration, when he was asleep on the red armchair in front of the fireplace. A different kind of beautiful, a more painful one, was when he laid in a bed in the hospital wing, looking so small and fragile in a sea of white sheets and bandages.

Sirius couldn’t believe Remus would go through so much trouble, sending weekly gifts accompanied by hand-written notes, just for him.

He sat down as well, throwing his arms around Remus and pulling him into a hug. “Aw, moony!” he said. “How did I get so lucky to have a best friend like you?”

Best friend? Had Sirius not put 2 and 2 together yet, or was he choosing to overlook the… not so platonic part of Remus’ notes to him?

Sirius must’ve felt Remus’ body tense up at the touch, because he let go of him, moving back to a respectable distance. “But why?” he asked.

Remus looked across the room, disregarding Sirius’ attempts at eye contact. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“Why did you send those gifts to me?” Sirius elaborated.

Because I love you. Because seeing you happy makes me happy. Those words burned on Remus’ tongue, but he swallowed them.

“You’re such an amazing friend,” he said instead.

I want to be more than friends.

“You always give so much, to me especially. You became an animagi for me, for Merlin’s sake. These little gifts were the least I could do.”

“Mate,” Sirius said, scooting a little closer to him again. The warm feeling of Sirius’ hand on his shoulder made Remus blush. “You don’t owe me anything. I would go through the process of becoming an animagi over and over for you. That’s what friends do!”

Mate. Friends. That’s all he was to Sirius, a friend. Finally, he looked at Sirius, shooting him a weak smile. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s what friends do.”

#remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #james potter #marauders #marauders era

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outterridge · 4 years ago

Note

⏰ 13

Dona was tucked up in bed, her knees were pressed up to her chest, two small gifts rested on the blankets before her. Birthday presents. One was wrapped with obviously cheap paper with yellow and black spots on it, the other was intricately folded with silken sheets that sparked, clearly enchanted. She rested her chin on her knees, her gaze flicking between both of them.

She picked the one from her Mom first, opened it carefully to find a box of homemade spiced pumpkin cookies and a pair of earrings, a tiny sun and moon. Dona smiled, popping one of the cookies in her mouth while she switched out her earrings.

Next was the gift from her father. She hesitated before she unfolded it, pursing her lips. When she reached into the envelope, she founded it was further enchanted. Dona pulled out a coin purse, she didn’t bother checking it before she put it in the drawer next to her table. A letter was next out of the envelope, Dona chewed her cookie while she read it:

My Dearest Dona,

Wishing you all the best for your 13th birthday. In this family, of which you are still a part, witches are considered capable, responsible women at your age. I am so proud of the woman you have grown into.

I hope that as a grown witch, you are able to reflect on your upbringing and understand the decisions that were made in your childhood. Your mother may have chosen to alienate you from your family but you know the truth. You lived it.

Despite your mother’s actions, there is still a place for you in your proper home. As an adult, you are able to make your own choices. I implore you to think critically about your options. You are an Outterridge. Whether you want it or not, your name gives you privileges in society. The name that you carry also brings responsibilities that you are able to shirk or enjoy, but I want to stress that you consider the consequences of your choices. It is not too late for you to make the correct decision.

-Your Father

Dona was in tears by the time the letter finished. She put it down, then gently folded it back together, placing it in the drawer with the money. She wiped her eyes with the corner of her duvet, shuffling down in her bed (which was now filled with pumpkin cookie crumbs) and curling up under the sheets. Her tears were just welling on the bridge of her nose when her roommate burst in, smelling of sweat and wet grass- having just come back from early morning quidditch practice.

“Donaaaaaa!” Her friend called, flopping onto her bed before reaching to yank back the covers. Clem was poised, ready to jump on Dona in her traditional birthday tackle when she noticed that Dona was awake- and more, she was crying, staring ahead. “... You ‘right?”

Dona swallowed, wiping her tears with her palms before tucking her hands under her pillow again. “Yeah. I think I just wanna sleep in. Sorry.” They’d had plans to go to Hogsmeade for a birthday breakfast, now they were third years and old enough to attend.

Clem sat back, still on Dona’s bed, frowning. “Well. That’s okay. But I’m planning on having a movie day in bed, if you wanted to join.” She said, and then went to clean herself up after practice, before dashing back inside to draw all of the curtains and rig up a sheet, and the projector they’d found in a room of hidden things.

By the time Clem was perched on her bed in a bathrobe, her wet hair piled atop her head, snacking on a big bowl of popcorn, Dona was peeking over her shoulder at her friend. Eventually it was the movie choice- Perks of Being A Wallflower- that won out. She picked up a crochet blanket, wrapped it around her shoulders and moved to sit next to Clem. Dona waved her wand and the cookies came to rest in front of them. Dona offered the bag to Clem, who took one. “Mom made them.” She commented, and took one for herself before resting her head on her friend’s shoulder, tucking her feet up.

“I love this movie.” Dona said, giving a light smile.

“Yeah,” Clem said, offering a box of Bertie Botts, “I know. It’s your favourite.”

#not me being shit with names and like... everything regarding the outterridge tree lmao #answered #Anonymous

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shy-magpie · 4 years ago

Text

RQG 157

these things get long and are by definition one spoiler after another, so live blog under the cut

pre episode nonsense:

My hopes for this episode are mostly just the obvious: For Zolf to pull out of his spiral; for Azu to talk to someone about how she's doing; for Hamid to find his footing with the Kobolds (loving that they are devoting a proper arc to using unearned privilege/power rather than pretending it doesn't exist); more Cel lore; a Wug; and for someone to shake answers out of the Brorb. Not sure Alex is going to let us get to know the kids individually which makes sense as juggling 7 new NPCs would seriously cut into everyone else's screen time. I think we will get more of Skraak & Hamid working through their issues, and Skraak's helping the kids through recovery. If we are very lucky maybe Zolf & Skraak will talk rather than just have Zolf resent the Kobolds for putting Hamid in a place to fall into old habits. Okay lets hit play!

Episode live blogging:

Intros are quick: Zolf sounds low, Ben sounds higher energy than he was.

Oh the Brorb drawings come better when the other half is distracted but not thinking about the real topic.

Krakens are through out the globe, unknown numbers, not true instances of Shoin, network is down.

Cel and I both react to having Shoin be the one to come closest to a truly non physical form.*

Krakens are cloned brains in robot bodies. Specifically said Daleks not Jurassic Park.

Shoin thinks he sent a ransom note using the Kraken as a threat against the world.

Does not handle it well when Zolf hones in on that no one knows who he is, much less trembles at his name.**

Hamid follows Zolf's lead and twists it towards boasting about beating the Infection. The talking half doesn't seem to know how he did it as clearly as the drawing bit. Unfortunately its strictly surgical which would be hard to reproduce at scale even before you consider the side effects.

Quick huddle with the rest of the team:

Cel always wanted to go to London?

Zolf wants to ask more about how the infection works so they could prevent infection. Wilde thinks he is suggesting using Shoin's solution, I get Alex has to catch people up but I don't like Wilde being a paragraph behind me or underestimating Zolf.

Bryn wants to review the diary. Alex confirms the diary says he had a possible way to "end it" as a whole.

They go back and Cel feigns being extremely impressed that Shoin might have a way to stop the infection. I think having time to regroup cut him off from his memory of the infection again. Alex spells out Shoin loses coherence whenever they bring up the infection/the time period around when he was infected.

Heal check time. Zolf crit fails. Azu got a 29 and can see where his theory was better than his surgery. It may be an aphasia (issues to with communication. can't get to certain words, some can't be spoken even if he understands the concept; others he can't understand if he hears them even if he uses the word/concept himself. Brain trauma, memory problems more severe the more recent you get, sounds like unable to store short term memory properly so anything longer ago than a week but after surgery likely lost.)

Cel switches to the simulacrum. He verbally dismisses it as a waste of time. His hand keeps drawing based on the previous question re:stopping the infection.

Alex calls for a sense motive. Zolf & Azu see the latest drawing is a landscape using technical notation. Its a barren mine. Yes! it's the entrance to Svalbard. Cel can see its a circuit. Alex makes us/Lydia wait until after he's done with the simulacrum stuff.

Shoin thinks using humans as your base design to improve from is the wrong approach, gives some credit to Francois Henri for taking a different approach.

The circuit maybe to transmit something, it needs an organic component. Cel couldn't roll much better then that so they probably need to kick it towards the Harlequins to set a team on.

Shoin is moaning about paying the bills. Took on the contract to provide Simulacrum fluidics to Damascus for the money.

Drawings change shape get less technical and focus on the cavern entrance. Ben catches it sounds yonic, Alex was trying to not go there but did he really think you could go from cave imagery to seed imagry without stopping there?

Hamid tries to get more on how he caught the infection.

Bryn and Alex spell out that to get answers you ask a real question he won't answer verbally but will answer with his hand, with a decoy to keep the talking him distracted while the hand answers.

Decoy question is about Harrison Campell.

Concept drawing of a person, overwhelmed by an image of a huge figure with lines going from the small to the large? Is he suggesting they plant someone they prepare to be infected, and have them infect it back?

Proofs? Minor changes between the proofs and published version of early Campbell books.

Another review session upstairs. Hamid's red string wall got cited as being useful! Cult of Hades/Wellington may have been the one to hire Shoin to make parts for Damascus. Zolf and Hamid talk briefly, about work and as dry "stick to the subject" as possible but they are talking productively.

Oh Ben finally gets in that the interrogation is hard on Zolf's knees because he has to keep his legs out of the cell. He snaps a little at Cel when they comment on cell vs Cel. Carter suggests "naughty box" which nicely derails that point of tension. Cel refers to Shoin as being more pleasant to talk to than Carter. Not sure if that undermines the tiny Cel/Carter ship or fuels it with tension.

Cel asks who hired Shoin to make Sim parts. He can answer directly. Well directly for him, it seems to be mostly justifying stealing Tesla's work on the basis that Tesla wasn't going to implement his theory. Hamid snipes him with a shot praising Edison to get him back on topic. Shoin says Edison was being backed by a big investor. Is it to much to hope this is Alex finally consolidating the factions? If Hades is Edison's investor (leaving Edison & co as effectively their minions, rather than a faction of their own) and the factory owners we can cut down on sides considerably.

He goes on about how he spied on Henri, religion as money maker. Shoin was directly approached by Hades lot. Shoin made sure his bits won't work since he didn't want competition. Wellington was his contact with Hades. Wellington always had a pair of cloaked figures. Vinegar + squizard = funny? Could be useful.

Do not follow what is going on with the hand.

Shoin is still unstuck in time and thinks he is going to connect them. Cel unplugs the speaker on his villain speech. Cel induces a dream state by powering him down

~break~

Cel suggests painlessly killing him. Zolf seconds the idea because its immoral to keep him like that. Hamid points out the longer the keep him around the more likely it is for someone to be infected. Wilde rules they should kill and seal it off.

Cel & Zolf have an argument about having the Kobolds handle the remains. Cel calls Zolf out on his inconstant stance on whether the Kobolds can be infected because if he doesn't believe that then he is risking them.

Wilde is moving on? Cel suggests letting the Brorb die, putting it in a bag of holding, keeping the bag in the anti magic field.

They can't just call Einstein because using unofficial channels is bad when irregular behavior is a sign of infection(?)

Alex's unhealthy attitudes about productivity are called out when he refers to the time Wilde spends thinking/planning before getting their transport arranged as "working" (with the inverted commas) rather than considering it part of the work.

They work out possible paths if teleporting is off the table.

And the boys are snapping at each other again. Zolf, you can't flip out every time you are reminded that Hamid doesn't have the experience or expertise of a seasoned sailor. Yeah you did leave the team without your skills and maybe the kid was a bit green for a field promotion; but you know what? He did a fine job, and the other choices were Sasha, who wouldn't lead, and Bertie, who shouldn't. Just because stepping down was the right thing to do, doesn't mean you get to lose it when you are confronted with the mere allusion to the idea it had consequences.

Barnes tells Hamid why going over the pole is a really bad idea. That Azu's suggestion is carrying Hamid has troubling symbolism.

Zolf actually comes more or less to Hamid's defense by pointing out that all their options are bad options, so having a go at Hamid's idea in particular is unwarranted.

I'm not going to bother listing out options. They will pick one or won't need to pick one. If we have been a very good fandom Alex may reward us with Earhart coming back as their preferred transport.

There we go, Hamid suggests her, Zolf seizes on the idea compliments Hamid on it, and immediately takes it to Wilde. Thank God he isn't so far down he can't do that. If he isn't compulsively shooting down any hope (especially from Hamid) then he really is on the upswing from the low brought on by quarantine stress.

Lydia isn't happy that there isn't going to be an American chapter. Then again we wrote off Svalbard, so don't give up!

Its the Northwest Passage and its so weird realizing that not everyone has it as a cultural reference. Wonder if it's an Oregon thing or a US thing.

Yes it would have been cool, but I think Alex is not going to let us have cool new story arcs when we haven't played with the ones we have at home.

Einstein and Earhart are our two best transport options. I am a happy fan. Especially if Zolf has to use his family and Earhart’s reaching out to him near the end of the journey to appeal to her. I mean we did get more on Zolf's relationship with his family than I expected after Paris, so I'm not going to sulk if they don't pursue this, but it would be nice.

Conflicted as a fan, its hard to remember that this taking months extra is a bad thing when the end of the series is feeling too close for comfort.

Zolf, look at you leveraging your experience with moving even when things feel hopeless!

Cel I love you, kraken as submarine is brilliant. Air kraken is suggested by Carter.

Hamid plays with the ideas while Alex goes "why?". Because you are going to have to work a hell of a lot harder than that if you want Hamid to see it as a no win situation rather than proof he needs to redouble on cheerful creativity. Feeling like he had no options led to the worst parts of Hamid's life, the things he is truly ashamed of; having few losses outside of those, he is going to make Kirk's Kobayashi Maru hang ups look amateur.

Zolf is heading to the beach.

Cel is checking on their village.

Hamid wants to contact Einstein himself, Zolf says he should talk to Wilde about that. Hamid wants Zolf with him for that meeting. Zolf either doesn't want to be a safety blanket, wants Hamid to get used to dealing with Wilde directly, or completely missed Hamid offering a chance to work together because he is incapable of seeing Wilde as an opponent. He does say some nice things about being a team.

Hamid tells Cel to say hi to Jasper for them. He is good at the people side of leadership. Remembering names and relationships, knowing how to show he cares because it's important to Cel without overstepping. If Zolf can learn to let go of the rank stuff, they could be an unbeatable team of co leaders.

Zolf nods at Azu. Azu smiles proudly back. Alex jokes about not liking giving them time to heal because they coordinate.

Hamid offers hugs to both Cel and Zolf. Because this entire character is a "fuck you" to toxic masculinity and he is not afraid to openly show affection to his friends.

Cel gives him a great hug.

Zolf hesitates but gives him a pat on the shoulder. Hamid's has high enough charisma to make that not awkward. Good kid, accepting that Zolf is reaching out as far as he can.

Hamid talks to Skraak. Hamid is worried about taking the kids. Maybe Skraak can convince them to stay & help Jasper with science. Because RQG loves us and wants us to be happy, they are considering a fantasy some of us harbored since "science" as a serious possibility. Could solve the issue with Alex not wanting the kids to take up too much screen time too. Skraak is the perfect character for Hamid to have as his second. He believes in Hamid, and can be confided in, but isn't going to take an ounce of self pity or bullshit.

Alex that village better be okay. Smoke? Controlled burn. Ben lightens the mood. The tank is still guarding the village. The barricade is up but they are guarding about as well as a village of level 0(1?) characters can be expected to.

They are having a party and there is a bon fire. Because Alex knows we wouldn't have trusted him if there wasn't a little scare with the smoke. !puns

The village is visibly healing since the weather is fixed. They thank Cel but know better than to ask.

Jasper! Jasper is looking good. He stepped in as a leader of the village. Cel and I could burst with pride. Jasper thinks Cel is coming to stay, Cel tries to explain they are going to help save the other villages around the world and mentions that Jasper would like the Kobolds.

!puns

* One day I need to hunt down the right corner of SF because there has got to be a decent amount of trans humanist fiction for trans humans out there somewhere.

**Not sure if I should feel bad for hoping this gives him a safe target for his destructive tendencies. Ideally Zolf would get past that point without indulging his dark side lest he reinforce bad coping mechanisms. Ideally Zolf would have weekly therapy without the fate of the world on his shoulders too. Its the more personal version of looking forward to a fight after Hamid's been stressed because he seems to find cooking baddies cathartic.

#Rusty Quill Gaming #live blog thingy #RQG 157 #RQG Spoilers #RQG Season 4

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