#it's particularly annoying because the main thing i open from tumblr are ao3 links

[queerofthedagger]

why is it that every single app manages to open links in firefox, my default browser, but tumblr for SOME fucking reason sends me to chrome every single time. like there is even an option in the chrome menu then to 'open in firefox instead' so clearly it Knows that chrome is Not My Fucking Default. like. oh my godddd

[sorbriquette]

Fixing Simon Snow: Ch 1-2

Would you believe less than a week after getting an affirmative to the question “should I post fics on tumblr as well as AO3″ I forgot???

So here’s chapter 1 and 2 -

Summary:

Simon Snow, an orphan taken into the guardianship of Davy Mage, has, without his knowledge or consent, been promised to Basilton Pitch. With a catch, if Baz can't fix Simon's behavioural issues and general lack of class, the deal's off. Simon being unwilling and difficult turns out to be a small obstacle in comparison to Baz slowly discovering he doesn't want Simon to change at all.

Note: This is not a historical fiction, it’s an AU of my own creation w/ a lil historic flare

Word Count:  5720

AO3 Link: One || Two

Baz

I was, to say the least, shocked when Father finally relented and found me a male to marry. I was more shocked when I found out who it was.

Heir to the House of Mage. Long-standing enemies of my own family. It must be quite the dowry. And from what I hear it ought to be. Simon Snow is well known to be something of a disaster amongst the nobility. No manners, a terrible conversationalist and far more interested in swordsmanship than any kind of intellectual pursuits.

Davy Mage apparently plucked him out of some orphanage, that's the story he tells people anyway. I've heard more than a few rumours that he's actually Mage's bastard son. I wouldn't be surprised. The man was always more self-righteous than actually righteous and there is something of a resemblance between the two of them.

Frankly though, disaster, bastard, whatever he is, at least he is a he . Last time Father told me he'd organised a possible partner for me he'd brought back Agatha Wellbelove and neither of us were particularly happy with that arrangement. So obviously it didn't work out.

"What's the catch?" I ask my father because he wouldn't fold this easily, not after being so adamant for so long.

I see something tug at the corner of my father's perpetually pursed lips and think maybe I've impressed him. "His father won’t give him away unless you can straighten him out."

I raise an eyebrow at my father. He seems to take my meaning and elaborate.

"I mean, Basilton, that if you want to wed him, you'll have to fix his behavioural issues."

I scoff, "I won't wish to wed him if I can't."

It hangs unspoken between us. My father doesn't think I can manage it. He thinks Snow is just going to press on being trouble and when this falls through that I'll finally accept marriage with a woman.

He's wrong. On both accounts.

I will fix Snow. And if I somehow fail? I don't want him specifically, but I'll still want a him.

But of course, my father thinks it's that simple to just become interested in women. He thinks there's a way that I'll ever be interested in women at all. He's wrong about that too.

I pull myself from the plush chair in my father's office. It's late, I should be turning in. "Anything else Father?"

"He'll be on his way tomorrow," my Father comments, swirling a glass of what I think is wine in one hand as he gazes into the fireplace, "you'll only have a few months, so I wish you luck."

I don't respond. I just nod and leave, wondering if I can keep myself awake long enough that I should get Vera to run a bath.

Simon

I'm not sure what's happening exactly. Just that Mage told me I'm going to spend a few months at Pitch Manor.

Frankly, I don't relish the idea. Mage is always going on about how the Pitches are awful, the absolute embodiment of everything wrong with the world, everything he's trying to fix.

Taxes and associations and secret meetings. That's how he's apparently fixing things, the wealth gap and such. I'm not sure how him owning half the countryside helps fix that. Or how using the taxes to build a militia helps. But that is information that isn't really my business.

This is my business though. Me being shipped halfway across the country into the waiting arms of our enemy. So why didn't he tell me about this?

Just tossed me in a carriage first thing, having some servants tote the few things I own out after me.

A carriage which is now pulling up outside of Pitch Manor.

I'm not scared of them, despite how Mage goes on about them being evil incarnate. I am uneasy though. He didn't even let me grab my sword. Something about not wanting to be seen as sending them a threat. Which if anything, only serves to make this more confusing.

I wonder if I can convince the Pitches to give me a sword? They're probably worried I'd slit their throats in the night. I don't see why I'd need a sword for that though, I could just nick a knife from the kitchens.

The carriage pulls up before I can work out the details of that particular plan.

Just as I reach for the door handle, the carriage door swings open of its own accord. Or it seems someone has opened it for me. Maybe they are the posh gits Mage makes them out to be.

I only become surer of that when I spot them. Malcolm and Basilton Pitch, standing there with twin expressions of apathy. I wonder if it's just some kind of hereditary facial structure or if the whole family gets together to practice those.

Basilton doesn’t look like his father, not completely. His skin is several shades darker and his eyes are a deep grey. Where his hair is stark raven, his father’s is tinged with grey though that’s probably more to do with age than anything. Still, they bear the same sharp features, all edges and lines.

Natasha Pitch was the last line of defence against Mage. The last proper one at least. He talks about it all the time. Though I don’t know the circumstances of her death, we can barely get a few weeks without Mage bringing it up.

Both Pitches seem to examine me, though somehow the younger's gaze is more harrowing than his father's. But maybe that's just because Malcolm Pitch steps forward first.

"Master Snow," he greets offering me a hand.

I reach out and shake it. "Uh, hey," I give him a somewhat weak smile.

Basilton looks like he's just been punched in the gut at that, though his father doesn't seem phased or surprised. My lack of etiquette isn't exactly a secret. There's so many rules and no sense behind any of them. I don't get why anyone would bother with any of that.

I wasn't raised nobility and Mage never took it upon himself to teach me. Just hiring subpar tutors who gave up easily, not used to dealing with quite my calibre of uncouth.

"A pleasure," Malcolm says, mouth pressed into a thin line, "I'll leave Basilton to show you around, I suppose it's important to let you two get acquainted first."

I'm not quite sure what he means by that but I don't question it. It's not like anyone ever answers my questions . Basilton, sullen as he is, is about my age though, so maybe I could get something out of him.

I don't even remember my suitcase until I see a couple of servants carrying it up the steps. I don't ask. No one else seems interested in commenting.

Malcolm retreats, as do basically all of the servants.

Mage always made sure I had a few people with me at all times. I never quite understood why. I never really even saw it as odd, I just assumed it was what nobility did. But they all trickle away back into the manor until it's just me and Basilton.

He holds his arm out at a weird angle, looking pointedly at me for a few moments. I look back, not breaking eye contact but also terribly confused as to what he's doing.

Eventually, he drops his arm and just motions for me to follow him inside. "The grounds are extensive, if I show them to you it will have to be on horseback. So we'll leave that for another day. You are permitted to explore them of course, just don't go too far without someone, we wouldn't want you getting lost or hurt."

Is that a threat? I'm genuinely unsure if he's threatening me or not. I suppose I'll find out in good time. I'd ask now but he's already barrelling on. "The south wing is for leisure," he tells me, holding a door off to the side of a rather expansive main hall open for me. "Music room, library, ballroom," he lists off, leading me through each and giving me some commentary as he does.

It doesn't help, not really. And frankly, I don't really listen. We're on our way back to the entrance hall when I finally ask my question. "It's lovely and all, really," I open with because I'm not great at these things but I don't try to be rude, "but why am I here."

A crack appears in Basilton's uncaring mask for but a moment. Eyes widening and mouth falling open for the shortest time before he gathers himself, brushing a few errant strands of hair back out of his face. "Mage didn't tell you?"

I just shake my head. He seems to know at least, whether or not he'll tell me is a different story.

Basilton pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, inhaling slowly, "Even when he's cooperating, he's an annoyance." Usually, I'd object, stand up for Mage, he gave me a home after all. But right now, it is annoying and I think Basilton might give me answers so I keep my mouth shut. "We are to be wed," he explains.

"Who?"

I thought that perhaps his exasperation was at its peak, but apparently, that's the one emotion he doesn't mind showing. "You and I, Snow."

I do a double take, staring at Basilton as I process what he's saying. The longer it goes on the higher his eyebrow rises and the more pressured I feel to say something, but all I can articulate is, "no."

Basilton seems unphased and shrugs, "somehow I doubt you have a say in the matter."

"Do you?" I ask, still, completely aghast Mage has delivered into the midst of our enemy and now wants me to marry one of them.

He exhales, his head tilting side to side, "somewhat."

"Do you even want to marry me?"

"Not as you are."

I don't try to stop my face from contorting into a scowl, "as I am?" I press.

He raises a hand between us before gesturing to all of me. "Boorish," he supplies.

Boorish. What a prat. I want to hit him but I'm worried that will only prove his point. "So we're calling this off then?"

It's a relief, really, I didn't want to marry him when he wasn't being an arse, I want to even less now.

But he shakes his head and ushers me along into another wing of the house. "Definitely not, I just have a couple of months to fix you."

"Fix me?" It basically comes out as a hiss. I'm not sure I've ever sounded so annoyed before. But I'm also not sure I've ever been this insulted.

"Yes," he says, casually, callously and with that same bored expression across his face, "I will not take a husband who acts like a brute."

"I won’t be taking you as a husband at all," I snap back, his calm only stoking my rage.

Basilton scoffs merely walking me through rooms now instead of explaining them. Dining room, kitchen, a stupidly fancy lounge and down a corridor to what I think is bedrooms. "Then you'll have to discuss it with your father. Besides, it's not like anyone else would want you."

For every ounce of anger in me, he seems twice as stoic and I want nothing more than to wipe that smug look off his face. So, I do it the only way I know how. I draw my arm back and swing at him.

I don't think he was expecting it because I clock him right in the nose and he stumbles back, blood dripping down his front to stain his shirt and his waistcoat. Maybe I'll regret that later. Maybe I should feel bad. Right now, though I'm just glad to have shut him up.

I don't think anyone’s ever hit him before because he blinks a few times before regathering his composition.

I expect him to come back at me with a sneer and some biting words. Maybe I've misjudged him though because instead a fist connects with my jaw and it's my turn to stumble back.

"Fuck," I curse, rubbing my face and gearing up to jump at him again.

Someone interrupts us though.

"Well that didn't take long, what did you say to him, Baz," a voice pipes up from beside us.

I'm so used to being chastised that it takes me a moment to realise she's not talking to me.

"The truth," Basilton- Baz- says as he draws a handkerchief from his waistcoat and uses it to wipe the blood from his face, "that he's unrefined and unwanted."

The girl, (woman?) steps in between us. She's shorter than me and rounder than most but she seems to be trying to size Baz up and I feel immediately fond of her for it. Her hair is a strikingly unnatural blue (I didn't even know hair came in blue) and her glasses are thick both in terms of lenses and the way they curve out past the edges of her face at a point.

"Snow, this is Bunce, she helps along the wear and tear on our library as well doing countless other useless and annoying things," Baz says, still pinching the bridge of his nose but aside from that, you'd think he was in perfect health.

The girl holds out a hand to me and I take it, "Penelope," she corrects, "anyone who's not an utter prick can call me Penelope, or Penny."

For all the words laden with insult, neither Baz nor Penny seems particularly annoyed at the other. If anything, I think I see the corner of Baz's mouth twitch up ever so slightly, but I'm probably just imagining things.

"Uh, Simon," I manage, letting my hand fall from rubbing my jaw to clasp hers.

"Oh, I know, my parents tutor the Pitches, so they'll be giving you lessons too." She doesn't let go of my hand, pulling me off down the corridor. "I show him to his room, Baz."

Baz doesn't protest, just waves her off with his free hand and turns around.

"What's his problem?" I ask Penny before Baz is entirely out of earshot.

"You'll need to be more specific."

That makes me laugh, but laughter only serves to reignite the pain in my jaw. "What's his problem with me?"

Penny shrugs, "I don't think you were what he's been hoping for."

For all his faults (and I've only known him less than an hour but I know they are many) he's still attractive and he has money and status, so I'm not sure why he isn't just getting whomever he wants. It's not like it would be hard for him.

"What is he hoping for?"

Penny looks me up and down for a moment, dropping my hand when she seems confident that I'm going to follow. "I'm not sure. I don't think he's sure either, really."

I don't press her further, I'm not even sure what question to ask.

"This is your room," she tells me pushing open a door to reveal a room far larger and more elaborately decorated than any room has a right to be. "Someone's already brought your things up though somehow I doubt the Pitches will let you wear them," she nods to a trunk at the foot of the stupidly large four-poster bed, "I can only assume there's still hope for you to escape if Baz hasn't just burnt them."

"What's wrong with the way I dress?"

Penny gives me a once over. I follow her gaze over my patched tunic, loose pants and worn boots. Admittedly, I probably did look like a servant standing next to Baz earlier. Or maybe someone else's servants, because all his have waistcoats and cravats as well.

"Where do all those taxes Mage demands go if none is left over to buy you new clothes," she says reaching out and tugging at a piece of tunic that's been sewn closed where it tore.

I try not to pout. "I don't know, you think he tells me?"

She shrugs, "well he certainly doesn't tell us," she smiles at me a moment, genuinely, everything about her feels genuine. "Baz will probably have someone summon you for lunch soon, so best of luck."

I don't need to ask her why she's wishing me luck. I had little more than a few moments with Basilton Pitch and I feel like all the luck in the world will be little help against him.

I don't ask why she's leaving or try to stop her. I need the time alone to prepare for this. To figure out what in the hell is going on here and how to put an end to it.

Chapter 2

Simon

Baz does summon me for lunch maybe he expected me to change because he looks me up and down with the same judgement as Penny but tenfold.

He's changed, but I suppose he had to since his last lot of clothes got covered in blood. Somehow his waistcoat has only gotten more extravagant though, embroidered with gold thread and fabric the same black as his hair.

He's so fucking pretentious.

The rest of his family does not join us to eat. When I mention it he just brushes me off with something about me not being fit to eat with his family. Or him. But apparently, I'm his 'responsibility' or something equally annoying.

So, we eat in the garden, which isn't altogether unpleasant. It's not raining but it's not exactly sunny either. Still, the plants are well tended and the patio we eat on is nestled between hedges and feels oddly private. I'm not even sure I'd be able to find my way here if not for the servant who led me.

Baz sits opposite me, on a cushioned chair with one leg crossed over the other, seemingly more interested in me than the food.

I mightn't like Baz but this food is amazing. There are roast beef sandwiches and pastries and some of the nicest tea I've ever had. Baz wrinkles his nose when I sully it with loads of milk but I pay him no heed, dumping several spoons of sugar in after and looking him dead in the eye as I do it.

And the scones.

The scones .

They're amazing. Probably the best thing I've ever eaten and I'm sure they're freshly baked because when I spread butter over them it melts until they're soaked through and butter starts trickling down the sides.

Baz looks less impressed. Maybe because this is regular for him or maybe just because he enjoys looking unimpressed. It's hard to tell. He just pokes food around his plate and every time he eats something he does so with knife and fork, even the bloody sandwiches.

It's unsettling. Him giving me all this food. Nice even.

"Do you like it?" he asks me, obviously doing his best to make it seem like he doesn't care to hear my answer. He waits for it anyway.

I nod vigorously, crumbs flying across the table as I say, "Yeah, it's amazing."

I see his mouth twitch up into a sneer, looking positively disgusted by me. "Well enjoy it, because until we teach you some proper manners, this is the last time you'll be enjoying anything other than roasts and gruel."

My mouth clacks shut though the noise is largely muffled by the food I have to bite through to make the gesture. Does he really think that a roast is the kind of food you serve as punishment?

"You seem to particularly like the scones, so I think we'll give you those back last."

He's evil. Actually, properly evil. The kind of evil you get hired to put a sword through, not forced to marry.

"That's bullshit," I snap at him when I finally manage to swallow my food. Or mostly swallow it. I can feel it slowly moving down my throat and it hurts but I try not to let it show.

Baz leans forward, not in interest but to rest his elbow on the table and perch his chin in his hand. Certainly not proper etiquette but I doubt he'd bother with it around me. He certainly seems more 'do as I say not as I do'. "And yet every time you open your mouth, either to speak or to shovel food into it, you make me more sure it's a necessity."

I gulp down tea, trying to make it seem like I just need a drink and not letting him know I'm trying to wash down the brick of food slowly making its way down my oesophagus.

"Enjoy it while you can Snow," he tells me, still watching me like he knows exactly how much I'm suffering right now, "it will be the last time you get scones. But do hurry up, I need to show you the stables."

Baz

When I was younger, I was more idealistic about the man I would end up with. And when I was much younger, I thought it would be a woman but that's beside the point.

With each potential wife my father tried to pitch me, and every girl he tried to make me talk to at a ball, I slowly started hacking away at that ideal. Settling for less. Just wanting a man instead of the perfect one.

I was not, however, expecting my standards to sink so low as Simon Snow.

He's the opposite of everything I'd always dreamed of.

I want someone who'll debate me and he didn't so much as look up in the library, so he's obviously not intellectual.

It was always a long shot but I wanted another musician, piano maybe, so we could play a duet. Snow seems minimally interested in music as well.

Obviously, he'd have been well mannered and clean cut and charming. Not charming to me, I don't particularly care about that, but charismatic certainly. Enough to engage with the other nobility with me. Enough to offset my sour disposition. Enough to convince my father that this hypothetical man was truly as perfect as I thought. So, my father would like him. So, my father would let me keep him.

Snow though?

Snow can barely string a sentence together and even then, it's littered with 'uhm's and 'ah's.

General attractiveness was important but less essential to the rest I suppose. That is the one category in which Snow excels though.

He's gorgeous.

Bronze curls I want to run my fingers through. They look so soft and they bounce a little when he walks, turning almost golden when the light catches them at the right angle. Making my breath catch when that happens.

And tawny skin spattered with moles and freckles. I want to trace my fingertips from dot to dot along his skin. I want to trace the same lines with my lips. And my tongue.

His blue eyes are so very plain but if they weren’t, I think it would all be a bit much. Too much going on, nothing to focus it. They add balance, like he's a work of fucking art specifically designed to ruin me.

I can only see so much of it under ill-fitting clothing but his body seems nice too. Broad shouldered and tall (but importantly, not taller than me). He seems a bit on the slim side but that won’t be an issue with the way he eats. I mightn't be inclined to give him decadent things just yet, but they will be plentiful.

I suppose that's part of all this though. I can take the stupid, uncultured, stunning, catastrophe that Snow is and shape him into what I want. Exactly what I want. Books, piano, polite conversation and all.

Maybe.

If I can pull this off.

We walk in silence to the stables. Well, it would be silent if not for Snow's insistence that he breathe through his mouth. I comment on it multiple times but he just brushes me off.

I think he's still mad about the scones.

Simon

I'm still mad about the scones.

I stay mad about the scones all through the walk to the stables.

I think I'll stay mad about the scones forever maybe.

It is a long trek to the stables. They're on the other side of the house from the garden where we ate and the walk there gives me time to appreciate how truly massive Pitch Manor is. Not even the estate, which sprawls on further than the eye can see, just the house itself is enormous.

Enormous but far from empty.

From what I can gather the servants live on the premises, as do the staff. Penelope and her parents (and people I think might be her siblings that I've passed in the halls). I wouldn't be surprised if the stable hands live here too. There's certainly the space for it.

Baz keeps making snippy comments. About my breathing, about my posture, about the way I walk.

I do my best to ignore him. Because I think maybe he just wants a rise. But also, because I know I won’t get a proper retort out and will just end up taking another swing at him.

I don't know what I expected when we got to the stables. A load of horses being doted on. And while there is certainly that, I did not expect a pretty young girl to be tending to them.

"Wellbelove," Baz greets with a nod as we approach.

The girl starts some, appearing completely enamoured with the horse she's brushing. "Basilton," she offers a sweet smile, blonde hair fluttering through the air around her as she turns. Her eyes rest on me for a moment and I start to wish that I had changed before coming here. "Finally got one you want then?"

It's more statement than a question but Baz still replies, "Unfortunately not."

Wellbelove seems to look confused for a moment but she still affixes me with a smile and offers me a delicate hand. I shake it, unsurely, and she and Baz exchange a glance.

"Agatha Wellbelove," she introduces herself with what I think is a curtsey.

"Uh- Simon Snow," I return with a nod.

She and Baz exchange another glance.

"I need you to teach him to ride."

I swivel to look at Baz, unlike him, I don't have to fake my emotions as I look completely affronted. "What?"

Baz completely ignores me, keeping his gaze trained on Agatha and not even giving me a sideways glance, "You have him for two hours then I'll come back and get him."

"What?" My words are more outraged then and joined by an exclamation of Agatha's.

Baz just turns on his heel and walks away from both of us after a bored, "thank you, Wellbelove."

"Basil." Agatha makes a noise something like an irritated snap but far more elegant.

I square my shoulders and set off after Baz, causing Agatha to protest again, "Simon."

"Oi," I snap, grabbing at his shoulder but perhaps hitting him before has set him on edge because he sidesteps me.

Baz spins back around to face me, still just looking bored. "What?"

Honestly, I hadn't planned this far, so I stand there sputtering for a few moments, "I just- I don't - why-"

Baz groans and puts a hand to his forehead like I've somehow disappointed him yet again. "Surely you can manage a sentence, come on Snow, just one."

I effectively growl, "I can't ride."

"Well, Wellbelove will teach you, now go." He points a finger over my shoulder, looking far too much like someone trying to direct a disobedient dog for my liking.

I stand a little taller and affix him with a glare, "Fuck off, I'm not your pet."

"No, I'm sure most pets are much smarter than you."

"I'm sure there are plenty that are less of a bitch than you." I snap back and Baz just raises an eyebrow, "dogs, I'm talking about literal bitches."

Baz gives me a long slow look, pursing his lips, eyebrow still raised. "I got it, it just wasn't very good. Now go get on a horse and hopefully you'll have something better in two hours."

"But-"

Baz just turns away again and I feel a hand on my elbow as Agatha appears beside me. It makes me jump but her touch is light and gentle so I don't flinch away.

"Trust me, the horses have much better manners, come on," she pulls me in the opposite direction as Baz either ignores or doesn't hear us.

As it happens, Agatha is great.

Horses, I don't like. But Agatha is great. Even if she does give me a withering look every few minutes that stings as badly as Baz's insults. She doesn't make me ride around or anything, takes her sweet time introducing me to all the horses, I forget nearly all their names but I savour not having to ride any of them for a while.

Then she makes me lead one them around, which is also not awful.

But then she makes me ride one. Not properly, I just sit on it and she leads the horse around. She seems more interested in the horses than me but we still chat, if only because it helps distract me.

"So, do you live here?" I ask hesitantly.

Agatha makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. "God no, my family has an estate an hour's ride away, I'm just here for the stables." She enunciates her point by giving the horse I'm atop a gentle pet. If the way it jostled me as it walked wasn't enough to prevent me blocking out the horse, then that brings me sharply back to reality.

"You don't have horses?"

Really the words estate combined with Agatha's frankly upper-class demeanour make me wonder why she wouldn't.

Agatha gives a heavy sigh, "Mage took them for his military."

She seems disappointed, annoyed, a little hurt even, it makes me feel bad. I know I shouldn't, what Mage does isn't my problem, but still.

"And he didn't take Baz's?"

"He tried," Agatha mutters, "Malcolm threw a fit, or as much of one as he can manage without seeming upset or making any facial expressions. And Fiona said she'd burn down the barn and slit all the horses’  throats before she let Mage take them." She grimaces as she speaks, "They don't even like them, they just don't want Mage to have them."

"Fiona?" I ask, pulling Agatha from her thoughts and the frown across her face.

"Baz's aunt, on his mother's side," she explains, obviously seeing the frown on my face and continuing, “she lives in town, not here, prefers to be able to get to the tavern easily. Prefers ale and drunkards to champagne and nobles."

Honestly, compared to everyone here and their perpetual sneers, she sounds like a breath of fresh air. But Agatha crinkles her nose as she speaks, obviously not particularly fond of this Fiona.

Agatha leads my horse back into the stable. I don't so much get off as fall off, landing on my arse on the stable floor, my only solace being that I don't land in a pile of horse shit. Agatha keeps it quite clean in here, not herself of course, mainly by snapping or batting her eyes at stable hands.

I hear laughter, with a snort in its midst and then faux coughing as Baz tries to cover it up. Not so perfect after all I suppose.

"Does me learning to be a fancy prick involve having to laugh like that?"

Baz's expression quickly contorts back into a glower, banishing the thought that he's capable of feeling any kind of positive emotions. "Step one is teaching you how to stand, instead of rolling around on the floor like an infant." He snaps back, tilting his head to the side and giving me the most condescending look I've ever seen.

Before I can respond Agatha cuts in, "You two are acting like you're married already," she sighs, leading the horse away, shooting me an unconcerned look at where I'm still laying on the floor.

If the glare I give her is annoyed, Baz's is downright livid. She doesn't pay much heed to either.

"Snow," Baz says, getting my attention back and giving me a pointed look.

"What now?"

"Get off the ground the horses defecate on and go get changed for dinner."

I frown at him, getting to my feet. "Are we eating with your parents?"

"No, we've been through this, you are far from ready for that."

We have been through that, but it doesn't really make sense. "Then why do I have to change?"

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Because I don't want a dinner companion who smells like horse."

Agatha sticks her head out of the stable, glowering at Baz, "there is nothing wrong with horses."

"Not if they're the main course, certainly not," Baz says and Agatha looks like she may hit him, "but if Snow smells like one, with the way he eats, he would be indistinguishable. If perhaps less well-groomed than your horses Wellbelove."

"Fuck off," I snap at Baz, feeling the overwhelming urge to hit him again. Really that is the main emotion Baz makes me feel it seems.

Baz seems amused at my response but Agatha crinkles her nose in distaste at my language, "I concur, both of you please-" she hesitates obviously hesitant to choose the same phrase as me, "leave."

"Gladly," Baz sighs, turning away and walking off again, beckoning me to follow over his shoulder.

I stand my ground out of pure spite.

It takes him a moment to realise and then rounds on me arms folded, "Snow, let me be clear, unless you bathe and change, you aren't getting dinner. I don't care if it happens now, or tonight or not for a week, I'm not eating with you unless you're clean and you're not eating unless it's with me."

I groan and trudge on after him, wondering if there will be any knives at dinner sharp enough to end him.

[takaraphoenix]

Hi! I don't to sound annoying, but I think my last ask may have fallen into the void so here goes: do you have any tips for starting an AO3 account? Sorry if you got the last one and just didn't feel like answering

Oh no, sweetie. Not annoying at all!

And while I do usually not instantly get around to answering and the asks might lay around for a day or two... yeah, I don’t have any other ask from you, so, good you send it again ;)

Tips? Mh.

1. The Basics!

Let’s start with the most basic thing. Your name.

Is your name a “brand”? That is to say; do you already have a recognizable name? Do people know you from other sites? Tumblr, DeviantArt, Fanfiction.Net, Wattpad, other sites I don’t know?

Then maybe pick the same name, if available. People who already like you might recognize it! They will also have an easier time finding you.

Not to mention, the human brain can not remember that many names and if you make them remember that oh, your name on this site is XYZ and your name on another site is ABC but on the next site they can find you as A2C... that might be asking a bit too much of them.

So make it easy for people who like you to find you! ;)

But don’t make it too easy for people to find you.

That is to say; don’t put personal information on your profile. Don’t link to your facebook, best not put your real name on there. The internet is not exactly a safe place, there are bad people, there are creepy people and there are also dangerous people. So always stay safe.

Now that you got your name and a profile that, instead of leading to personal information best leads to your other accounts, such as tumblr, you’re all set to post your first fic!

2. Write a decent summary.

If you move to AO3 from a site like FFNet, you are used to a pathetically short character limit that doesn’t allow much freedom.

Your summary is your window into the fic. It’s supposed to be the hook. Nowadays, tags take over parts of that job too but in the end, the summary is the final sell.

It’s tricky to find a good balance between explaining your story in an intriguing way and not spilling all the beans. Because you don’t want to spoil the ending, you want them interested in reading more and not left with the feeling that they already know everything that’s going to happen.

The same as with the tags apply; include what you think is truly important. What do people need to know about this story before going into it? Think of it as a trailer to a movie. What’s the best pitch?

3. Tagging makes fandom life easier.

Tagging is the one important feature about AO3 that makes it so beautiful and special. And tagging seems to be the hardest task for authors.

There are those who undertag and those who overtag.

You don’t have to literally tag everything - like “kissing” and “hand holding” and the sexual orientation of every single character that will as much as be mentioned in the fic. If readers face a literal wall of tags, chances are they just won’t read it and skip the entire thing.

Undertagging isn’t good either though. If things are too vague, many might also feel like it’s not worth wasting time on checking it out because the risk of running into something they might dislike is too high.

My personal approach to it is to tag everything I see as relevant. Things that, if I see them tagged in a story, instantly make me click it. Like, if I write a story that is centered particularly around the angst and feels of a certain character; tag it. There might be people desperately looking for a fic that centers on that character’s emotional turmoil.

And be on the safe side with smut too. Tag what you’re doing; there might be certain things that are uncomfortable for readers and that they are trying to avoid. That can be as simple as the what, or even as the who does what. For example, if I see a tag for explicit content but the author did not bother tagging who tops and bottoms, I generally don’t even bother clicking on the fic anymore, because despite the fact how most authors claim that topping and bottoming has “nothing to do with the character”, 90% of fanfiction authors still have it hard-wired in their brains that fics are more bottom-centric, that the bottom is portrayed as the shyer one who needs to be fussed over and comforted while the top is the brash, brave one. So to avoid running into literal fuckery where the roles are reverse to how I view the characters, I just don’t even try anymore.

Which means that tagging top and bottom can a) cause people who are looking for specific fics with a specific character as either of those to find your fic and be happy about it and also that b) someone who doesn’t enjoy the order you enjoy not to run into something they dislike.

Which actually summarizes the way I apply tags anyway. Don’t tag everything, but tag everything you think someone might be looking for in a fic, or might be trying to avoid. It’s both a lure and a warning in once.

Also, trigger warnings. You plan on writing heavier subjects? Murder, self-harm, torture, abuse, rape? Definitely put it in the tags. There are people who might just be really squeamish about it and don’t like it, which should already be reason enough to warn, but there are also people who have a serious history with such issues and might be triggered by them. So if you tag such things, they might already be filtered out by having been blacklisted by the users and you might have just made some people’s lives a little easier.

Tag your pairings. Maybe best in order of importance; many might just look at the first listed pairing, used to authors sorting them by importance and thus dismissing the fourth, fifth or sixth ship you tag as just random side-pairing. So if you have a main-pairing, always tag it first.

Also include character tags. I was recently told that there are apparently actually people who filter by character tags. News to me, though I do check the character tags too to see if my faves are in it.

4. Use the features AO3 offers!

This starts with something as simple as the fact that AO3 sends you mails about Kudos and comments. It’s a great way to stay up to date with how much love your fics gain.

Now that we’re at it; comments. Reply to them, if you have the time. Those are people who are interested in your work, in something you evidently love enough to put it out there. Engaging with them is a brilliant feeling. Getting feedback on your things and getting to know what they expect of your work or want from it. Occasionally, it can even be very inspiring and give you an idea to include to your story that you hadn’t even thought about!

Another thing about comments however is that you can moderate them. It’s a feature I personally don’t use because I’m a veteran at this point and there’s nothing I haven’t seen in the comment section to I’m not that easily fazed.

But if you are still new to not just AO3 but fanfiction in general and if you might write a ship the so-called antis deem “problematic” - which, at this point in time, can literally be any ship aside from canon no, wait, canon too - you might do yourself a favor there. Because fandom life can be beautiful but it can also be hell. There might be shitheads who come to your fic and say nasty, bad things about your pairing choice, your fanfiction, your writing, maybe even you yourself as a person because they’re trying to hurt you.

Don’t let it get to you.

But if you are more sensible about such things, then maybe moderating reviews can be a useful feature for you because it allows you to delete spam and flames without them ever showing up in the fic. You can always flag reviews as spam or delete them, even if you don’t use the feature, but you’ll have an ugly “scar” on your comment section that says [this review has been deleted].

One of the most handy features AO3 has - after the tagging - is in my eyes the series-feature. It allows you to bundle multiple fics together under one umbrella. Personally, I really hate when people post oneshot collections on AO3 as one fic and there’s tags for like 20 fandoms, 30 pairings and 60 kinks in that one fic and you as the reader have no way of telling which of the additional kinks would now relate to which pairing. The far easier and cleaner solution would be to post oneshots seperately, so people can easier tell what they individually are, and mark them as part of a series for that collection. It’s, of course, a matter for authors, but I’m not the only one who simply scrolls past such oneshot collections because I don’t have the patience to go through it just to notice all my kinks are tags that would belong to a shot I’m not interested in (not to mention the ones that already tagged the collection as including a pairing but 20 shots in that pairing has still not been written, or the ones that don’t include in the chapter title what pairing and fandom the individual shot is... and you’d literally have to seep through 30 chapters to find that one pairing in the collection that you’re interested in. Yeah no, I got better things to do with my time and close the whole thing).

So yeah, the series function makes it far easier to gather things you want to put under an umbrella but still make easy to navigate for your readers, which, always nice.

Another handy feature about AO3 is that you can put links into the fic. So if a character starts singing a song in the middle of the fic for romantic mood... Not everyone recognizes a song by its lyrics and it just doesn’t set the mood as well; how about just putting a link to a YouTube video over the first line that the character sings? Your readers can open it in another tab and let it set the mood for your fic.

5. Don’t let haters get to you!

I know I mentioned it above already, that you shouldn’t let shitheads get to you, but it’s important enough to earn its own separate point on the list.

Fandoms are filled with hatred and mean, nasty, selfish people who will do and say everything to keep their fandoms “pure” and thus attack people who ship or like things they themselves don’t like.

That can, at times, be really drowning and hard, so you need to focus on the good parts. If you’re a first-time writer, you might not yet have the connections, or you already do from tumblr and other sites, I don’t know, but let’s say you don’t. Then make them. A point of that is the above mentioned “interact with your readers” advise I gave you; the people happy about what you write are the good people and the kind of people in fandom that you want to associate with - so just do it. Do it, make friends, find people who you can gush to about this thing you both love.

If you already got those contacts from other sites? That’s great! But hey, never too late to make more friends and meet more fellow fans.

But those people are incredibly important if you want to participate in any fandom, because they are what reminds you that the fandom can be safe, sane and nice. That it can be a beautiful place and that it’s worth loving.

Because otherwise the hate from the other part of the fandom might get to you and it might even make you dislike the show/movie/book itself simply by association. I’m sorry that I’m sounding like such a downer here toward the end, but I’ve already seen it and gone through it myself, that if you fall into the deep end of negative fandoms, they can ruin everything for you. So it’s a piece of advise that is very dear and important for me to give - find the safe, sane and nice part of the fandom, claim it for yourself and enjoy it and don’t let anyone tell you that you don’t have the right to enjoy and love it.

And that’s it. That’s all I can think of, at least. I hope there was at least some useful stuff in it, but since I don’t know how experienced you are with fanfiction writing and posting, I figured I’d better be more thorough and more general about it. Better give too much advise than too little, I guess.

Now, one last thing: Enjoy writing and never forget to enjoy writing; never let it become a “task”, always love it, okay? ;)

[quinzelade]

By No Constraint (chpt 72)

SS x Danse

Chapter List

Thanks to my amazing beta, @waiting4morning, for her wonderful work!

Tumblr has apparently changed its linking rules, meaning I can no longer externally link my FFnet or Ao3 accounts if I want my story to show up in the tag search on tumblr. If you want update alerts, please search ‘quinzelade’ on either of these sites and follow me there.

This is the final ‘main’ chapter. Next week is the epilogue.

Major Brotherhood/Danse spoilers.

–

Family Ties

–

Michelle Cooper was a mess. She lay curled up in a bunk at the top of the ship, thin and unwashed, her hair greasy and unkempt. Her face was pale, her eyes blank and unseeing, staring past Quinn, who was crouched down next to her.

“Did you hear what I said?” Quinn asked, giving Michelle’s shoulder a little shake.

Michelle flinched and snapped her gaze to Quinn, blinking slowly. “What?”

Quinn bit her lip. She had avoided going to Cade to ask about Michelle’s condition, because she didn’t want another prolonged goodbye with Carson. Everything that needed to be said had been said. Quinn couldn’t do it again. But Michelle was clearly in a bad way. Quinn had heard the rumours, how she’d been taken off active duty and given time to recuperate, to no effect. Instead, Michelle was deteriorating.

“Josh,” Quinn repeated gently. “I’m leaving to do work in the Commonwealth. Josh asked to go with me. If he went with me, it would be unlikely you’d see him again. I know this is a hard thing for me to ask you, but Josh wants it, and I think in the long run—”

“Take him.”

Quinn stopped. She gawped at Michelle Cooper, the speech she’d prepared to convince Michelle to let Josh go collapsing to dust. There was a long silence while Quinn tried to get a hold of herself. Michelle Cooper returned to staring at the wall.

Eventually, in a strangled voice, Quinn managed to say, “You’ll never see him again, Michelle. Are you sure?”

“I can’t look after him,” Michelle replied, not bothering to meet Quinn’s eye again. “I can’t even look after myself. It’s for the best.”

Quinn had expected more of a fight. Now she hadn’t got it, she was at a loss what to do. She studied Michelle for a moment and then said, “Do you want to say goodbye to him?”

“No.”

Anger rushed through Quinn like wildfire, and it took everything she had to hold her tongue. Instead, she gave a nod she was sure Michelle couldn’t see, stood up, and left. Quinn wasn’t going to waste her time on such a pathetic, selfish—

She breathed hard through her nose as she stomped through the ship, her mind racing. How could anyone be so disinterested in a child? Even grieving, Michelle still had a responsibility to Josh, still had to set the example and keep herself together.

The look on Josh’s face when he’d pleaded with Quinn to take him with her surfaced in her thoughts, and she felt a stab of guilt. The desperation, begging her for an escape. The despair when she said no. She’d had no idea. No idea it was this bad.

The disgust coursing through her was near overwhelming. She just couldn’t understand how little Michelle cared for Josh. He was reliant on her for love and support, and instead she just moped in her bed, with no thought for anyone but herself.

As Quinn seethed, she slowly became aware that her anger wasn’t entirely directed at Michelle. Sure, she was furious with Michelle, but there was something else too. It needled at her, scratching her with guilty memories until the wounds bled with self-loathing.

This could have been her. It nearly had been her. This was what Charlie faced that night, when she’d drank herself into oblivion. Scared enough to traverse a dark and dangerous wasteland for help. Scared enough to reach out for Danse.

Never again. Never again.

Danse had saved her. Saved them both. He was everything she wasn’t: calm and controlled. Thoughtful. Responsible. He really was her better half, brought out the best she could be. She loved him.

Quinn swore there and then to remind him of this fact when they were reunited. She didn’t tell him enough.

For now, though, there were more important, pressing things to deal with. It didn’t take her long to locate Josh, questioning the staff on the ship, as well as the other squires. He was in his room.

This was news to Quinn, who assumed that the Coopers slept in the open bunk space with the rest of the soldiers. But as it turned out, only Michelle lived in the shared bunks. Josh lived in a ‘family room,’ as had his parents when they’d been alive. The idea of three or more people being crammed into one small living space while the officers had their own private accommodation annoyed Quinn a little, but she decided not to dwell on it. Soon it would no longer concern her. At least they’d let Josh keep the room for the time being.

She knocked on the door and heard the sound of scuffling from within, followed by light footsteps. The door opened and Josh peered around the edge, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Can I come in?” Quinn asked.

“No.” He went to shut the door again, but Quinn jammed her foot in the gap. She heard him snarl and lean on the door, with little effect.

“Go away!” he grunted, opening the door and slamming it on her foot repeatedly. “Just...go away!”

“Squire Cooper!” Quinn snapped, and despite himself, Josh stood to attention.

He blinked, surprised at himself, and then glared at her. “What?”

“I have some questions for you. On your mother and father’s lives, I need you to answer them truthfully.”

Josh’s face paled, before slowly tinging green at the mention of his parents. “What kind of questions?”

“I’d rather talk in private. But whatever you answer, I’m not going to tell anyone else. This will stay between us. I promise. Now can I come in?”

His face darkened, but after a second he stood back in a silent invitation. She strode inside, her eyes trailing around the room. There were three beds, two of them pushed together, and another in the corner. The decor was sparse, one peeling Fancy Lads snack cakes poster on the wall, and a bookcase crammed with medical journals and old, classic novels. Next to the makeshift double bed stood a gleaming rifle—well cared for, but clearly old. Quinn wondered if it still worked.

“My mom’s,” Josh said sullenly, walking to the double bed and standing in front of it, as if trying to shield it from Quinn’s eyes. “My dad gave it her when they first met. She never wanted to take it out but always cleaned it.” He cast his eyes to the floor.

Quinn kept her distance. She was already intruding on a sacred place, and she didn’t want to impose any more than she had to. But it could all be worth it with some care and a bit of luck. Quinn took a deep breath. “How do you feel about synths?”

“Weapons of the Institute that will cause the destruction of humanity,” Josh said at once. His speedy reply betrayed the rehearsal behind the statement.

Quinn folded her arms, glaring at Josh until he reddened and dropped his gaze. She stared at him a little longer, and then said, “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not—”

“Don’t lie to me, Josh. I know how your mother felt about synths, and it wasn’t that.” Quinn wasn’t entirely sure if this was true—after all, Vivian Cooper had only ever defended Danse to Quinn—but the tone of their last conversation suggested she’d never seemed particularly threatened by synths. Quinn was banking everything on this assumption.

There was a long beat of silence, and then Josh shrugged. “I don’t really see anything wrong with them. My mom said they can’t help how they’re made. My dad used to look mad when she said that, until...until Paladin Danse died.”

Quinn’s stomach turned. “What happened when Paladin Danse died?”

Josh’s face crumpled, and she remembered that he used to idolise Danse. Josh bit his lip before saying, “Mom told me that Paladin Danse was a good man, even if he was a synth. She didn’t think he was a traitor. She said he probably didn’t know.”

“What did your dad say about that?”

“He...he didn’t say anything. But he didn’t look angry, either. Just sad. I think he agreed with mom but didn’t want to talk about it.”

Quinn’s heart suddenly felt light. This was what she had been hoping for. Maybe not a perfect opinion, but the foundations for acceptance. Vivian and Stephen did right by their son, it seemed. But she had one more question.

“How do you feel about ghouls?”

Josh scowled. “They’re gross. And dangerous.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, like my mom said, they can go feral. Eat you! I mean, I know synths kill people too, but the Institute is gone now, so they can decide what they want to do. But ghouls will always be like that. They’re monsters.”

Well, she was never going to get everything she hoped for. But it was more important that Josh tolerate synths, what with Charlie and Danse. And if Danse himself could learn to accept ghouls over time, then Josh could too. Adults were far more stubborn over bad habits and beliefs than children.

“Thank you for being honest with me, Josh,” Quinn said, straightening up.

Josh looked surly again. “Fine. Can you go now?”

“Sure,” Quinn said. But as she turned to leave, she glanced over her shoulder and added, “Or...you can come with me.”

Josh drew in an audible breath, his mouth slightly open. “What?”

“I spoke to your Aunt Michelle and Elder Maxson, and they both said if you want, you can come with me.”

“Don’t,” he whispered, going pale again. “Don’t prank me. This isn’t funny.”

Quinn smiled. “No prank. We can leave as soon as you pack your things.”

Josh stood as still as a statue, staring at her. His bottom lip began to tremble, and then suddenly he burst into tears. He ran to her, throwing himself at her. Quinn crouched down and held him tight.

“Go on,” she said into his ear when he eventually calmed down a little. “Go get your stuff.”

Josh broke away from her and nodded, wiping fruitlessly at his streaming eyes, before picking his mother’s rifle up and setting it carefully on his bed. Then he got onto the floor, scrambling under the frame and pulling out a box.

Quinn stood in silence for a while, watching Josh collect the little he owned. Whatever Danse said, this was still a risky thing to do. There were so many things that could go wrong. A high potential for her to lose everything. But like Danse insisted all those months ago, if Quinn could change her decision, would she? If the answer was ‘no,’ then she had done the right thing.

The look on Josh’s face was all she needed. He was coming home with her.

--

Danse picked up the Brotherhood flag off the floor, letting the fabric run through his fingers. He’d left it until the very end, avoiding the moment where he’d inevitably regret his disrespect towards it.

Brotherhood, through and through.

It didn’t matter how much he hated their methods, their betrayal of him, or the consequences of their dogged mantra...he was Brotherhood. He was a soldier. And he still cared about them.

Danse sighed and closed his eyes, kneading his forehead with fists still clenched around the flag. This was why he’d sent an encrypted message to Haylen so she could stay in contact with him. Why he’d packed up everything into his Brotherhood armour. He hoped Quinn would forgive him for leaving the new set behind. There were too many memories. Too much blood and pain and friendship trapped in the old, rusted plating.

Thinking of Quinn was sombering, though, and slowly he lowered his hands, letting the flag trail at his feet. Was Quinn alright? When would she be back?

As if on cue, the elevator rumbled to life. Danse quickly stashed away the flag in the compartment of his armour and clambered inside, before picking up his rifle. With any luck, it would be Quinn. But if not…

To his great relief, it was Quinn. And she had a companion with her.

Joshua Cooper stopped dead as he saw Danse, gripping at Quinn’s arm. Even from this distance, Danse could see the boy’s knuckles had gone white. His eyes were wide and fearful, and he stared up at Danse with great trepidation.

Danse set down his weapon on the nearby table and got out of his armour, trying to set Josh’s mind at ease. It seemed to work, and Josh slowly let go of Quinn’s arm, though he still looked apprehensive. Josh glanced at Quinn, who gave a small smile and gently pushed him forward.

“I...I knew your parents,” Danse said gruffly. “Worked with both of them for years. They were fine people. I’m...I’m sorry for your loss.”

Josh nodded, his bottom lip trembling. But then he squeezed his fists and any sign of upset disappeared. “My mom didn’t think you were a traitor. She said you were too nice. Too…” Josh fumbled for the word, “noble. That you wouldn’t betray any of us.”

“I didn’t,” replied Danse, the feeling of gratitude towards Vivian Cooper making him near dizzy. “I didn’t know what I was, and when I found out…” He shot Quinn a nervous glance. “I tried to make sure I was executed for it. Quinn convinced me otherwise. And I’ve kept my distance ever since, to make sure I didn’t pose a threat to the Brotherhood again.”

Josh considered this. “The Institute is gone, right? That means you’re safe. Because they aren’t there to try and control you anymore.”

Danse looked pained, but he nodded. “That’s right. I’m free.”

Josh raised his eyebrows at Quinn. “Is this why you didn’t want me with you, ma’am?”

Quinn went red. “Yeah. I didn’t know how you’d take it.”

Josh nodded solemnly. “Sensible.” He shifted his backpack and smiled. “But I’m glad you decided to trust me. Let’s go.” He stared up expectantly at them. No questions asked. No concerns. He talked like a soldier but accepted like a child.

Quinn and Danse looked at each other.

“Yeah. Let’s go,” she said, smiling at him.

“Quinn, wait, I…” The guilt was needling Danse now, so he could barely breathe. “I’m taking Brotherhood armour with me. I can’t leave it behind. I just…”

“Too many memories?” Quinn asked, and he nodded. “I thought you might. No big deal.”

Danse blinked at her. Didn’t she understand? “But you risked your life to get me the new set.”

“We can come back for it another day.”

“But what if it’s stolen?” His voice sounded childish, persistent. Danse cringed a little, but she clearly wasn’t getting it. She needed to know exactly what he was giving up, and reprimand him in turn for treating her gift so…

His thoughts cut short as Quinn got out of her own set of armour, emptied its contents, and walked across the room with her arms full. She approached Danse’s X-01 series, packed it up with her things, and then climbed inside. Danse stared at her.

“Your armour is important to you,” she said, her voice sharp behind the helmet’s sound filter. She strode over to him and patted him on the shoulder, almost knocking him over in the process. “Not enough space for all three of us at once. We’ll meet you up top.”

She held out her metal plated hand to Josh, who frowned. “I’m not a baby, ma’am.”

Quinn laughed. “Fair enough.” She gestured for him to follow, and they walked into the elevator together.

The doors closed.

I love her, Danse thought dimly to himself, overwhelmed by her gesture. She acted as if it was an easy decision—and maybe it was for her—but Danse could barely think for his gratitude.

I love her. I should tell her more often.

--

The scowl on Charlie’s face spoke volumes. He sat on the sofa, surrounded by comics, eyeing Josh with blatant dislike.

Josh looked equally wary. Quinn and Danse had explained to him on the way that Charlie was a synth. This seemed to unsettle Josh, but he didn’t comment on it. Now he was staring at Charlie like he was a bomb about to go off. Quinn didn’t blame him. Josh could quickly adjust to seeing Danse again, because he knew him, and because his parents had been open minded. But Charlie was an unknown quantity: uncertain...unsafe.

“Danse, why don’t you get Josh settled?” Quinn said pointedly. Danse nodded and ushered Josh into the next room.

“Why is he here?” Charlie hissed at once, in a tone that suggested highest treason. Quinn knew what he was thinking. She had brought another child into their home. Replaced him. This needed to be stopped before it truly got started.

“His name is Josh and he’s staying with us from now on,” Quinn said, before adding forcefully, “I don’t want to hear it!” as Charlie made to argue with her again.

She crouched down next to him and waited until he met her eye. He looked a mixture of furious and upset. She kept her voice low as she said, “Honey, you are my son. Nothing will change that. But I couldn’t leave Josh behind. His parents were murdered...and it was my fault.”

“How was it your fault?”

“I didn’t get to the fight in time. I let people down.”

“So you’re feeling guilty?”

Quinn winced. Nothing like the honesty of a child. “Yes. I am. But I’m also responsible for him. If his parents weren’t dead, he’d have somewhere to go. Family to be with. The least I can do is try to look after him, make sure he’s okay. But I need your help to do that.”

Charlie fidgeted. “Does he know I’m a synth?”

Quinn nodded. “He knows, and I think he’s a bit nervous. You’re the second synth he’s ever met, and…” An idea hit her, and she quickly seized it. “And you need to show him that synths are just normal people. That’s the only way things are going to change, by showing other people that synths are nothing to be scared of.”

“I’m just a kid,” Charlie said with a frown. “Why do I have to do this?”

“Because…” Quinn sighed. It was a good question, and the answer was unfair. “Because kid or not, you are a synth. You are always going to have to defend yourself against people that don’t know any better. Danse is the same. So where better to start than with someone your own age? You never know—you might make a friend.”

“I don’t want a friend,” Charlie replied moodily, folding his arms. “I don’t need a friend.”

“But Josh does. So please try. For me?”

Charlie pouted.

Quinn decided that was as good as she was going to get. She kissed Charlie on the head and stood up. She could talk about it again later. For now, better to see how Josh was getting on.

Danse passed her in the corridor, mumbling something about sleeping arrangements and disappeared out of sight. Quinn walked into Charlie’s room to find Josh sitting cross-legged on the floor, slowly unpacking his things.

There wasn’t a lot. A few pieces of uniform—some of which Quinn suspected had belonged to his parents, judging by the size—a couple of books, scrap that had been cobbled together into little statues, a rolled up poster, and a very battered action figure with a missing arm. Josh looked up as Quinn entered, and quickly stowed away the toy.

Quinn smiled. “You’re allowed toys here, Josh.”

“Oh.” Josh pulled out the toy, which Quinn recognised as Grognak the Barbarian, and set it down on the floor. “We were allowed them, but…”

“The grown-ups would tut about it?”

He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Well I won’t tut about it.” Quinn indicated to the stacks of comic books and toys she’d managed to salvage for Charlie. “You’re a kid.”

Josh’s eyes went wide. “Are they all his?”

“Yeah,” said a high voice behind them. Quinn turned to see Charlie hovering in the doorway. “What, never seen a comic before?”

Josh shrank away a little and shook his head. “No. Not this many.”

“They didn't keep comics on the ship?” Charlie edged closer, frowning.

“Some of soldiers kept them, and Proctor Quinlan had a lot. But the squires…” Josh shrugged. “Elder Maxson selected us so we could learn. Playing was a bad thing. A distraction of duty.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “That's stupid.” He walked past Josh, eyeing the Grognak figurine on the floor, and began sifting through his precious collection. He unearthed several Grognak issues and tossed them to Josh. “Here.”

Josh picked them up, his mouth falling open in shock. “Wow!”

“Not to keep,” Charlie said quickly, shooting Quinn a nervous look. “Mr. MacCready gave me them. But you can borrow them for a while.”

Josh stared at Charlie like he was a god descending from the heavens. Charlie blinked after a few seconds of awed silence, and then turned slightly red, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile. He pointed to a colourful issue with a scantily-clad woman on the front—Why am I letting him read these things again? Quinn wondered—and said, “Start with that one: The Legend of the She-Squid. It’s the earliest issue I have.”

Josh nodded and opened it, but his brow furrowed almost instantly. “Wait, who is The Vixen?”

“Oh, that’s one of Grognak’s nemy—nemming—nemma—” Charlie peered at the front page of the comic, and then carefully said, “Nemeses. I think that means they fight each other and stuff. But he has a crush on her too. They kiss sometimes.”

Both boys pulled a face, caught each other���s eye, and then giggled. Charlie walked over, sat down next to Josh, and picked up another comic, advising Josh read that one after he was done with the She-Squid adventure.

Quinn left them to it. They didn’t even look up as she slipped away. She made her way back towards the living room, feeling a bit more settled. With any luck, there wouldn’t be any more issues, aside from typical sibling squabbling.

As she came back into the main part of the house, Quinn noticed Danse had already begun to unpack things from his armour. The Brotherhood flag was hung carefully on the wall. Quinn smiled. He still had a lot of baggage to work through, and she’d be with him every step of the way.

As if on cue, Danse tottered back into the house with a grunt, lugging a bed behind him. Quinn ran over to help him get it through the door, and then set it down in the living room. Danse wiped his forehead, panting, and gave her a grateful smile.

There were light footsteps, and Charlie poked his head from the corridor. “What are you doing?”

“Bringing a bed in for Josh,” Danse huffed, leaning against it. “Not sure where to put it yet, though.”

Before Quinn could say anything, Charlie replied, “Oh right. Put it in my room. Then Josh can look at my comics without taking them anywhere.” He disappeared back down the corridor, and a moment later Quinn heard him say, “So they took you on missions with them?”

“Yeah,” Josh replied, his voice muffled by the walls. “I’ve seen a super mutant up close. They’re really big.”

“Are super mutants like ghouls?”

“Kinda. They eat people too.”

Well, they seemed to be getting along at any rate. Quinn let Danse catch his breath while she absent-mindedly looked about the room. Her eyes fell on the flag pinned to the wall for a few seconds, before she glanced back at Danse. He had noticed where she’d been staring, and was now scarlet.

“I’ll take it down if you want,” he blurted out, moving around the bed in such a rush he tripped over the frame and nearly fell over. Quinn held out her hand to stop him, her palm on his chest as she bit back a laugh.

She looked up at him, trailing her fingers from his chest to his neck, before finally resting it on his cheek. “It’s important to you,” she said, tracing his lips with her thumb, “so it stays.”

Danse made an odd noise in the back of his throat and suddenly pulled her close. The kiss was long and tender, the stress that had plagued them since the day they’d met falling away. Danse pressed his hand to the small of Quinn’s back, while she wrapped her arms around his neck, never wanting to break apart. But they did, and they stared into each other’s eyes, oblivious to all around them.

“I—” they both said at the same time, before fumbling apologies and urging the other to speak first.

Danse laughed and ran his free hand through her hair as he kissed her forehead. “I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Dragging me from rock bottom and making me see my own worth. Showing me I am capable of standing on my own two feet...and that there was a life after the Brotherhood.”

“Everything I helped you with, you deserved,” Quinn said, cupping his face with her palms as she kissed him again. “You make me a better person just by being yourself. Things aren’t so hard when you’re around.”

His cheeks grew hot at this, but he smiled all the same. “I love you.”

Quinn leaned against him and closed her eyes, smiling as Danse rested his chin on the top of her head. She snuggled into his chest and said, “I love you too.”

Danse squeezed her, but then they both looked up running footsteps came up the corridor, and Charlie and Josh ran into the room. Both boys halting, staring at Danse and Quinn, and then Charlie pulled a face.

“Ugh, Mom!” he exclaimed. “Dad! Gross!”

There was a long pause as Charlie’s words settled. Everyone looked from Danse to Charlie, both of them going scarlet.

“Um…” Charlie fidgeted, glancing between the two adults. “Do you mind if I call Mr. Danse that?”

Quinn and Danse looked at each other, and almost at once there was an unspoken understanding between them. Quinn turned back to Charlie, smiling. “If you’re comfortable with that, honey, then it’s fine with me.”

“And me,” Danse said, nodding.

Charlie looked delighted. “Cool!” He turned to Josh. “Come on. Let’s go play with Dogmeat.” He gestured to a beaming Josh, and the two boys ran from the house. Seconds later, their laughter and Dogmeat’s barks filled the air.

All Quinn’s worries about Charlie and Josh dissipated. She turned to Danse with a smile. “I think we’ll be alright.”