#now that the post season testing is over what about coming back to london and FILMING SOME PODCASTS GODDAMIT

[disaster-racing]

Season Review: Marcus Armstrong talks through transition to NTT INDYCAR SERIES, becoming top rookie (x)

[ten-cent-sleuth]

A Galling Yoke, Part 9

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for the “Look at me when I’m talking to you” and Location: Art Gallery squares on my July Break Bingo card

See this post for main info, including a masterlist and synopsis. See this post for warnings.

Word Count: 3.9k

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x f!Reader

Rating: Teen

Despite the bitterly disappointing nature of your last conversation, Sherlock did continue calling on you to “keep you apprised” of his progress. He always stayed much longer than would have been deemed appropriate for a proper afternoon visit, sticking around so you two could toss ideas back and forth about possible next steps, possible hints, possible culprits. There were a frustrating amount of possibles.

Sherlock had consulted his contacts in Scotland Yard circles and had combed through old cases to look for precedents in capturing hired killers or their hirers. He wasn’t having much luck, and his colleagues weren’t so eager to help anyway when all they saw was Sherlock humouring a family friend with an unofficial investigation. For your part, you were content to take a back seat in the field work now; as much as you appreciated Enola’s insistence all those days ago that you would be an asset to Sherlock, you just didn’t feel up to roving around London anymore.

Partly because the case was at a juncture that required Sherlock’s network and strengths more than yours. Partly because the temperature had dropped and you didn’t want to test your bad knee. Partly because you and Sherlock were back to that uncomfortable reliance on “Good afternoon” and “How are you?”, though with a little more variety thanks to the work you could discuss. And—the factor nobody else knew—partly because you were uneasy in any public situation at the moment.

“You have been rather shut in since Lord Coltidge visited us, ma’am,” commented Mrs Rogers one quiet afternoon. “The knocker has been down from the door all week and you have not taken a single walk. Is everything all right?”

A sip of your tea chased away the lump in your throat. “Of course, my friend. I am simply weary of the ton’s gossiping and must recover my tolerance for it in time for the upcoming Season.”

She looked neither convinced nor prepared to push. In truth, you had revealed more to her than you would to Sherlock, though his prying gazes were far more frequent than her single inquiry.

He knew something was up.

But you would feel silly telling him about it. You felt silly simply experiencing it. Your father had offered no proof, had very little authority in Town society, and yet…

You set aside your cup and saucer in order to stand and walk to the window. Ignoring Mrs Rogers’s watching you from her seat, you looked at the carriages and pedestrians on the street below and wondered how many had apparently heard.

Your father had no reason to lie, after all. When he had told you that your “skulking about” the East End and “confronting” Miss Algar had whipped the upper circles into a frenzy about a scandal surrounding the Voss family, you had been incredulous—not because you disbelieved him, but because you had not expected anyone to care what you were doing on Cable Street. Who in the world had seen or heard of your presence there and had wanted to dig deeper, deep enough to unearth your husband’s betrayal?

Lord Coltidge had not cared to inform you of that detail, however, only of all the whispers people were sharing about the new light in which they saw you. A wave of nausea washed over you, and you shut your eyes against it.

“Ma’am…” You had heard your housekeeper come up beside you moments earlier, yet her voice startled you.

“All is well, I assure you, Mrs Rogers,” you told her, though you still did not dare open your eyes.

“Certainly, ma’am. I only meant to ask whether you planned to accompany Mr Holmes out today.”

“I do not believe he shall come to invite me, Mrs Rogers. It is long past when he normally calls on me.”

“That is true, but if he were to arrive…? It would do you good, I think.”

You hummed in halfhearted agreement. If giving her the response she wanted to a hypothetical improbability would ease some of her worry for you, it was hardly a sacrifice. “Yes,” you said, “I would accompany him.”

“Splendid!” replied Mrs Rogers. “I shall fetch your pelisse.”

Your eyes flew open. “What do you—?” They caught on a familiar figure coming down the sidewalk, nearly at your door. “Mrs Rogers!”

But the clever woman was already out of the room. You shook your head, but a chuckle overtook your groan with little struggle.

To Sherlock’s visible surprise, you met him at the door, ready to go.

“How did you know I was to invite you on an outing?” he asked.

“Whether an invitation was forthcoming does not signify,” you answered. “If you had had no outing planned, you would have had to improvise one, for Mrs Rogers shall not have me remain indoors this afternoon.”

Your housekeeper tisked dismissively through a smile. Your butler looked pained to hand you your cane.

Sherlock looked even more befuddled but managed to bid the Rogerses adieu as he led you outside.

“I almost did not come today,” he informed you after a moment’s awkward silence. “I did not wish to go to you empty-handed, and I was stuck in a bit of a rut. Professionals do not leave loose ends, that much has been made clear to me these past few days. To err is human, of course, but if any missteps or oversights would have been minimised from the onset, could they have survived twelve years in the shadows? Without a motive to find the conspirator or a trace to find the contractor, how are we to move forward?”

A thread of wistfulness wound through you at the gentleman’s earnestness; this is exactly what you had thought of when faced with your father’s sanctimony.

“You know what this means, do you not?” the earl had asked you.

Defiantly, foolishly, you had remained silent, spitefully comparing his righteous tone with the sincerity you had taken for granted when Sherlock urged you to partake in his thought process. Defiantly, foolishly, you had made no attempt to hide your ignoring your father, and he had shouted—

“Look at me when I speak to you! Are you even—?”

“—quite all right, my lady?”

You flinched, jolted out of your distraction. “Forgive me, Sherlock, I was not attending.”

You braced yourself for the offended huffing that Sherlock always managed when he learned somebody wasn’t listening to him, and you were left slack-jawed when he instead grinned.

“What amuses you?” you demanded.

“It is only that I was explaining why I ultimately decided to come see you despite the case’s stagnation, and you are proving my point!”

Heat flushed through your face. “Well, what was your point?”

“Of late, your mind has been preoccupied, has it not?” He didn’t wait for you to decide whether to be honest or to attempt to lie to a human lie detector. “I shall not ask why; I endeavour only to ease that mind somewhat, if I can.”

Any hope of an intelligent—or even intelligible���response fled in the face of his tiny, hopeful, almost bashful smile, so you settled for a tiny, grateful, almost bashful smile of your own. Reddening, he spluttered on—

“Of course, I hope to refresh my mind as well, to gain some insight into this case of indirects by allowing the brain to attack it indirectly.”

Though you would normally find entertainment in Sherlock being flustered, this time you found only grief that a brick wall now ran through your friendship and guilt that you had erected it. But if he could make an effort to move past the suffocating fog of “childhood friends and first loves” to the clear blue sky where romantic feelings cast no shadow, so could you.

“Where, exactly, are we going?” you asked.

Sherlock straightened his shoulders, a sly look chasing away the distress on his face. “It is not altogether exciting, I fear: only a certain building at Trafalgar Square, which I have heard from certain sources is trying a new initiative due to the success of a similar one in York…”

Your brow furrowed. Trafalgar Square? What would Sherlock take you there for? The pigeons? Uniquely Sherlockian, of course, but not much for him to get sly about. St Martin-in-the-Fields? Mm…definitely not.

You whipped your head around to gape at Sherlock, who was looking even more impish at your realisation. “The National Gallery?”

His broadening smile was answer enough.

“I had thought it closed,” you said. “Are they not adding a new section that the public is not meant to…?” Trailing off, you thought back to the clues Sherlock had teased you with. “The York Art Gallery. It is known for its Great Exhibition Hall. Goodness! Is that what they have been building at the National Gallery, then? The grand opening would be the talk of the ton, I have no doubt, and I have heard naught…”

With a low hum, Sherlock pulled you closer to whisper, “It is not yet the grand opening. I simply have an in with one of the managers, ever since one of my investigations provided him much-needed assistance a few years ago.”

You would have gaped more if you’d known how. “You would use one of your contacts for a casual outing?”

He pursed his lips and glanced away. “It is not a one-time arrangement,” he defended himself, “so I may as well make use of it. Since I would not appreciate the opportunity as much as you, it was logical—” He glanced back with wide, horrified eyes. “That is, not logical, only…only…”

Your gaze dropped to the ground. Oh, goodness… Had you really reduced the great Sherlock Holmes to walking on eggshells around you? How could you possibly fix the mess you’d made of things?

“You like art very much!” he blurted out.

Your eyes shot back up. “Er—”

“At least, you did when we were young,” he said, looking ahead instead of at you. “I remember how much you enjoyed studying art theory and history, and I assumed you retained the passion due to the collection of artwork I noted in your home…”

“You noticed that?”

You flushed at your outburst, and Sherlock did not reply. You weren’t sure whether to be grateful for that reticence or not.

Pushing past your blunder, you ventured, “I do like art very much. I am sure I shall enjoy this excursion, but even if I do not, I apologise for apparently wool gathering so often that you noticed. Just now, I was…thinking of my father.” And you almost told him. You almost told Sherlock about Lord Coltidge’s reprimand, about the dreadful self-consciousness it had awoken in you. You almost told him about your biggest concern out of it all—

“I thought you were past all this, Daughter, all the insolence and the foolhardiness. Clearly not, if you would so carelessly handle the identity of your husband’s mistress.” The earl had sneered so zealously you had almost thought he was actually pleased with this turn of events. “Now that you have bandied about that you and Edmund did not have a happy marriage, you shall be the prime suspect of Scotland Yard and gossip corners alike when Holmes proves Edmund’s death was not an accident!”

—but one look into your friend’s sharp, bright eyes and you knew he would be troubled if you spoke a word of it.

This. This is how you could possibly fix the mess you’d made of things! Letting year-old hurts spill out of you had done no good; you would spare Sherlock any more of your woes, and that included the stifling shame of all your acquaintances knowing you were slighted by your husband as well as the suffocating anxiety of all your peers about to think you were involved in your husband’s murder.

With one stroke, you wiped away thoughts of your predicament and painted on a reassuring smile for Sherlock. “Do you recall how we met?” you asked him.

“Of course,” he scoffed. “How could I— That is, how could anyone forget walking down a corridor in their house like any day and coming across a strange little girl rummaging through it?”

You rolled your eyes. “How many times must I tell you I was not rummaging! I was merely leaning on that chest of drawers to better inspect the painting—”

“That is arguably more bizarre, you realise.”

“Well. Either way, I only had the chance to wander off and look at your corridors and corridors of family portraits because my father had brought me along when he visited with your parents. In a way, it is his fault we are friends, is it not?”

A corner of Sherlock’s mouth turned up. “I doubt he would appreciate that interpretation. As for me…” He leaned his head forward to look at you. “I would like to think that we would have run into each other eventually, regardless of your father’s involvement. Perhaps it is ridiculous of me to rely on the thought of…”

“Of inevitability?” You couldn’t quite keep the disbelief out of your voice; Sherlock couldn’t have faith in something so close to the concept of fate, could he?

But he looked away, and you hurried to reassure him, “We were both inquisitive children of a similar age on neighbouring estates. Perhaps our connexion was indeed…” You found yourself trailing off too; somehow, you couldn’t get the word inevitable out anymore.

With a shake of your head to clear it, you realised you were entering Trafalgar Square. You let the awkwardness melt away as you leaned heavier into Sherlock’s arm and grinned up at him.

“Oh, it is sinking in now,” you breathed. “Sherlock, I thank you for this. It is the height of thoughtfulness.”

He opened his mouth, then slowly shut it and opted instead for a rigid nod.

Sherlock led you across the square, tightening his hold when you jumped at the noisy and nearby take-off of a group of pigeons, before showing you through a side door of the National Gallery and past its standard wings into a renovated-looking section that you’d never visited before.

Letting go of Sherlock and wandering along, you drank in the hall of paintings, as clear and clean as any well maintained home you’d visit, but sunnier and, of course, more colourful. What home, well maintained or not, held this many paintings? Displayed this much warm red and bright yellow and deep green and swirling blue? You were floating off the floor as your head whipped left and right, trying to absorb as many of the various shapes and sharp lines and masterful strokes as you could.

Though you did not forget yourself enough to start rummaging, you were overtaken by a sense of lightness—the lightness of giddy freedom, the lightness of pure and unfettered enjoyment—that you could only remember from childhood, and you would not have been surprised if your steps were as skippy and your movements as twirly as they had been the day Sherlock found you admiring his hall of paintings. But in this room full of beauty and creativity and devoid of judgement and shame, how could they not be? In this room where Mr Sulyard did not haunt you, Lord Coltidge did not hound you, and indeed the only company was the person you most lo—

You skidded to a stop and stared agape at the wall. No, no, no. You could not entertain such foolish thoughts! You could not harbour such foolish sentiments! Your feelings had to be muddled, that was all—

“Interesting,” came Sherlock’s voice at your side. “You were enraptured by all the tints and brightness of the art around you, I noticed, but you pause to consider the solitary piece in monochrome.”

Blinking, you scrambled to take in the painting you had been staring at—or towards, really. The plaque helpfully informed you it was a portrait of Queen Margaret of Anjou, and Sherlock helpfully informed you of who exactly that was by reciting—

“She’s beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; she is a woman, therefore to be won.”

It took you a moment, but you recalled attending the start of Drury Lane’s run of Henry VI just a month or two ago. You turned towards Sherlock with a retort on your tongue and only stumbled a little at the startling discovery that he was looking at you rather than at Queen Margaret.

“I never did grow fond of Suffolk,” you said, “though I did like one of his lines near the end of Part One. Oh, how did it go again? ‘Marriage is a matter’, and something about attorney deals…companions or what-have-you…then: ‘For what is wedlock forcèd but a hell, an age of discord and continual strife?’”

Sherlock looked at you so long, so searchingly, that you braced yourself for another vulnerable conversation. But just as he seemed about to open it, he shook his head and smirked lightly.

“I do not much like Suffolk either,” he said. “I am not a great fan of Shakespeare’s histories in general—”

“Be they too inaccurate for thee, sirrah?” you teased. He shot you a look.

“—but I at least enjoyed Henry VI for Saye’s character, as minor a role as he may have had. In particular, I enjoyed his line, ‘Ignorance is the curse of God…’”

“‘…Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven,’” you concluded in unison.

You and he locked eyes, and the gallery echoed with silence for a long moment. He inched closer—or was that just a twitch?—and you froze. Your heart was racing, but your body froze.

And Sherlock looked away first.

Now, your heart shot to your throat. The only other time Sherlock had ever looked away first from anyone, as far as you knew, was that first day you and he had been reacquainted. Gracious, why did he make you panic? Why did you make him uncomfortable?

“I actually appreciate—” you started.

“Perhaps we ought to—” he said at the same time.

“Forgive me—”

“I— No, I apologise—”

“There is no need. What were you saying?”

“No, no, you may speak first, my lady.”

Your smile was taut but, hopefully, not too brittle. “I rather appreciate the Bard’s decision to write histories,” you said. “Studying the past would be fascinating and useful regardless, but with a play, those figures of study become more understandable, more relatable, and therefore more edifying. The plight of King Henry VI, for example, would not seem nearly so human to me if not for Shakespeare.”

Sherlock hummed in concession. “The playwright does succeed in portraying Henry as a good-hearted and therefore sympathetically naïve fellow, rather than simply a good-hearted and therefore hatefully weak king.”

“The measure of a man is on a different scale from the measure of a noble,” you agreed. “And it was all the harsher a proportion for Henry VI because of his father.”

Gravely, the detective nodded, but then his countenance lit up the way it did when a thought caught fire in his mind. “I suppose Lord Pashbroke shall be in a similar plight when he inherits and becomes Lord Coltidge instead.”

You grimaced. “I had not thought of it that way, but yes, I reckon you have the right of it.” You turned back to Queen Margaret and sighed. “I love William, but truly, I am glad he shall not be king.”

“I am sure he has the courage to protect England if the need arose,” said Sherlock with a chuckle, “but yes, the earldom shall be enough for him.”

You also chuckled—for William, more than enough. Another Henry VI quote popped into your mind then, but you brushed it aside in favour of continuing the flow the conversation had finally found. “Were you not going to say something as well, sir? ‘Perhaps we ought to…’?”

“Ah, yes! I was simply going to suggest a section of the exhibit you might like…”

The afternoon passed pleasantly. Although awkward moments poked through the bubble you and Sherlock had created around yourselves, they shortened rather than sharpened with time, so you returned home confident that you two could rebuild your closeness, your r—

Your friendship.

That’s all it was. That’s all it ever would be.

You wouldn’t even be surprised if that’s all it had been. Maybe all you had felt for Sherlock at Ferndell was admiration and endearment. Yes. Yes! Then, surely, all you felt for him here and now could not be more than that. Could not be… Could not truly be…

Shaking your head, you concentrated on your household tasks for the rest of the day. It was only as you did your nightly ablutions that your mind wandered back to that other Henry VI quote you’d thought of earlier.

“’Tis much when sceptres are in children’s hands.”

The line, though moving and memorable, had not seemed pertinent to your conversation with Sherlock: easily brushed aside. But why had your mind supplied it, then? Something about the conversation had made you think of it. What had you and Sherlock been discussing…?

Of course. William, dear brother. Still… Though he would always be your baby brother, he was hardly a child, and certainly not one with a sceptre in his hand. Your father was still Earl of Coltidge, as much as you believed the power did not sit well in his hands, and likely would be for years to come, unless some health-endangering issue lay in hiding beneath the surface or some apoplexy-inducing event lay in wait around the corner.

You snorted to yourself; if Lord Coltidge suffered an apoplexy, it would probably be by the hand of his own theatrics. The man was no good at coping with crises, much preferring to kick them under rugs and never talk of them again, even minor ones. That weakness was likely what had first pushed you away from seeing him as a fatherly figure, as a support or protector. Simply another role of his that did not sit well in his—

You stopped dead in your movements.

Another role of his.

Lord Coltidge was not merely an earl—he was also a father. Just as you had told Sherlock a few days ago, you had felt the need to make up for his parental lackings with William as a child. What if your brother had once felt the same need to do so with you?

Sceptres in children’s hands.

Yet that was nothing so terrible. Regrettable, perhaps, and another black mark on your father’s character, certainly, but… Something niggled at the back of your mind. When would William have needed to step in as a support or protector for you? What would have motivated him…?

Sceptres in children’s hands.

For the plain truth was you had not needed a father in a very long time. You had adapted your childhood to need no parental affection save for the occasional smile or compliment from Eudoria. You had found love and laughter enough from your London friendships and household. You had even survived a dreadful marriage without a hint of paternal concern or—

Oh, blazes.

The letter. The hitman. The motive.

The sceptre in a child’s hands.

Your brother had killed Edmund.

Thank you for reading, and if you have been following along the series since July, thank you for your patience. Thank you especially to @every-username-is-taken-damnit and @sailorguardianwannabe for (probably unknowingly) providing me the motivation to complete this update by your comments. :3 I hope this chapter, despite its delay and possible consequent differences in tone, is okay. Feedback is always welcome! :)

[chudleycanonficfest]

The Switch

Day 10, Story #2 is by @adenei

Title: The Switch

Author: adenei

Pairing: George Weasley/Angelina Johnson

Prompt: First Date

Rating: T

TW: Mentions of character death

***********

The shop is quiet as George locks the door to his office. It’s been a month since the grand re-opening of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, and the steady thrum of customers has put the business back on track to where it was before the untimely closure due to the war. Things are different, of course, with Fred not being there, but George’s family and friends have stepped up and offered more support than George knows what to do with—not that he wanted it in the first place.

  In retrospect, he is thankful for his family and friends, Ron and Angelina in particular. They helped him put down the bottle and get his life back on track. 

  “Fred wouldn’t want this.” Angelina had told him late one night while she and Lee were staying over in his flat that smelled of days-old Firewhisky and hadn’t been cleaned since before they’d gone into hiding at Aunt Muriel’s.

  “How would Fred feel if you let everything the two of you worked for go to shit? How would you feel if the tables were turned and if it was—” Ron had yelled as he snatched the half-full bottle away from his brother and dumped it down the drain. The emotion was raw as the words caught in his throat, the end of the phrase hanging between them like the weight of a bludger pulling them down and grounding them.

  At first, he’d been pissed, but they were right. Fred wouldn’t have wanted George to resort to any of that. And even though he’d been begrudging in accepting help to begin with, George knew he wouldn’t have gotten the shop up and running as swiftly as he did without everyone’s help. The hole in his heart still ached, and not a moment went by where he didn’t miss his brother, but finding a new stride in this post-war life is exactly the push George needed to not only move on but also honor and make Fred proud.

  As George makes his way onto the main floor of the shop, a figure standing behind the counter makes him pause. He’d recognize that silhouette anywhere, the unrequited crush from his Hogwarts days now thrust back in his life, as if to taunt him of just another thing he’ll never have.

  “You’re still here?” The exhaustion is apparent in George’s voice after a ten-hour day.

  “Yeah, I wanted to make sure you didn’t stay on and try to do all the inventory yourself again like last week.” Angelina runs her fingers over the various displays of fireworks that are locked away behind the checkout area as she lightly teases George.

  “Nah, I learned from that mistake. Besides, don’t you have your regular job that you need to get back to? Now that things are running smoothly again, we’ll be able to manage without the extra help. Especially once things die down after the first.”

  “I don’t mind spending a few hours here after work, you know that. Things’ll start to pick up again soon once the Quidditch season gets underway, I’m sure, but right now, my corresponding duties are light. Call me crazy, but I’ve enjoyed spending more time with you lately. Almost makes me feel like we’re back in Hogwarts, you know? When real life and responsibilities seemed so far away.”

  A chuckle escapes George’s lips. It was true, all this time they’d been spending together, especially with Lee and sometimes Alicia, almost made everything feel right again.

  “Well, we can hang out in other places, too. I swear I don’t live at Wheeze’s.”

  “George, you live upstairs.”

“Ah, bugger off.”

  “I’m only teasing.”

  “And all I’m saying is if you want to do something outside these walls, all you have to do is ask.”

  “Are you hungry, then?”

  A genuine laugh bubbles up into George’s throat at Angelina’s brazenness. “Bloody hell, woman! Impatient much?”

  His outburst brings a smile to Angelina’s face, brightening the dark circles under her eyes from the extra hours spent helping out. 

  “You’re the one who said to ask. So, what do you say? Fancy a drink and a meal down the street? It’s late enough that the Leaky shouldn’t be too busy.”

  “I s’pose it couldn’t hurt. Beats making something for myself, that’s for sure.”

  “Great, let’s go.” 

  Angelina walks around the counter and reaches out to take George’s hand in hers. An electric shock shoots up his arm from the point of contact, and George has to stop himself from pulling away from the surprise of it all. A memory flashes through his mind of twinkling lights amongst a silver backdrop in the Great Hall all those years ago. He sees two figures dancing and twirling to the music of the Weird Sisters, one with flaming red hair much like his own and the other whose sapphire gown swished against the travertine floor. The memory brings a reminiscent smile to his lips as Angelina tugs him out the door.

  When they reach the Leaky, the pair settles into a quiet booth in the back of the establishment, away from curious eyes. It’s late in the evening for a meal, which is made evident by the empty tables and chairs scattered throughout the pub. Only a handful of patrons litter the bar, allowing Tom to be attentive to their needs. 

  George takes a large swig when the barkeep returns with Butterbeers, and they place their orders.

  “No shot of Firewhisky tonight then?” 

  George shakes his head. “I told you, Ange, I was serious about stopping. I can’t use the bottle as a crutch for grief anymore.”

  Angelina nods as she observes him intently. George can feel the heat of her gaze trailing over him as he takes another sip from his drink. 

  “You’re staring.”

  “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

  “Oh? And here I was thinking I was mesmerizing you with my dashing good looks,” George quips. 

  Angelina smiles, and for a moment, George thinks he sees a blush on her cheeks before she recovers.  For all the time they spent together during Hogwarts, and more recently in the months following the war, George finds it odd that they’re struggling with conversation now.

  “Knut for your thoughts?” asks George.

  “Just that it’s been nice reconnecting with you. And Lee. Circumstances are shit, of course, but with my hectic schedule during Quidditch season, I don’t get much time for socializing and friends. I even had to drop my registration for the semi-pro league I was hoping to play for.”

  George nods, and his stomach twists as he processes her words. That would mean she’d be leaving soon once things got busy. He’s overcome with the urge to see if her job is something she’s passionate about.

  “Do you love it? Your job, I mean.”

  “Well, yeah, if I can’t play professionally, the next best thing is writing and commentating. Plus, I’ve gotten to see the world all on the Ministry’s dime. Can’t complain there…”

  “But is it something you see yourself doing for a long time?” George presses. He doesn’t mean to sound judgmental, but he needs to know if it’s even worth it to pursue.

  “Well, after graduation, it seemed like the right fit. The opening was there, my parents were encouraging me to see the world, and I didn’t have anything tying me down. Honestly, I think my parents thought it was safer for me to travel, especially with the war on...”

  And what about now? 

  George is nodding his head up and down while the question ricochets in his mind. He opens his mouth, gathering the courage to allow the four words to escape his mouth when Angelina interrupts him.

  “Well, there are some openings that would allow me to stay in London that have just come up. They’re looking for commentators and stats writers for the matches played in the Kensington stadium. So, if you needed an extra hand at the shop, I could stay—”

  “—I don’t want you to stay for the shop. If you want to travel the world, you should. I doubt you’ve seen all the world has to offer in two seasons.”

  No! What are you thinking! 

  George can almost hear Fred chastising him for his rash response. It doesn’t come out the way he meant it to sound, and he knows he messed up given the crestfallen look on Ange’s face.

  “I only meant—”

  “I-I’ve actually already put in for the London job, George. And I promise it’s not because of the shop. Lee promised to help me with commentating, and this way I can play again. I start training next week. You know how much I missed playing Quidditch, and now that England is safer, I can stay and have the best of both worlds.” 

  The longer she goes on, it feels like she’s rambling and going on with a laundry list of pre-prepared reasons, which doesn’t sound like the Angelina he knows. It’s almost like she’s trying to convince herself that those are the reasons she’s staying, and not for anything else.

  “Oh.”

  Ange rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry, I know you and Fred always used to think you two were the center of the universe, but I promise I didn’t choose to stay just for you.”

  Her voice is light, and she’s smiling, but George can’t help but sense something else lingering beneath the surface. Disappointment, perhaps? Or maybe he’s just reading into things too much. Hoping something might be between them that really isn’t. He forces himself to stop overthinking and simply enjoy her company instead.

  “Well, I, for one, am happy you’re staying. We’ll be able to get together more often, and it’ll almost feel like our Hogwarts days. Maybe I’ll even be able to convince you and Alicia to test new products again.”

  Angelina nearly spits out her Butterbeer at George’s joke as Tom approaches with their meal. He knows he’s not fooling either of them; the irony is that the girls were always two steps ahead of him and his brother. They were the only two in their year who managed to avoid becoming test subjects to all of their prototypes.

  The two fall into more reminiscing as they tuck into their fish and chips. George doesn’t realize how ravenous he is until he starts eating, and he’s even more grateful for Ange’s suggestion now.

  As they are polishing off the remainder of their baskets, the topic of conversation falls on the Yule Ball, as Ange remembers how Fred had tossed the wad of paper at her.

  “It was romantic, wasn’t it?” George jokes as he remembers his brother’s ridiculous attempt at asking a girl out. “Still don’t know why you said yes to that tosser.”

  To this day, he’d always resented his brother for drawing his wand first and asking Ange to the ball. Of course, George knew it was all meant to be a bluff. It was Fred’s attempt to get his brother to buck up the courage and ask Angelina for himself. 

  George remembers it vividly. “Just ask her. What’s the worst she’ll say? No? Fine, if you won’t do it, I will.”

  When Fred had gotten Ange’s attention, George had no idea what to expect. They were usually well in tune with each other, and George could anticipate Fred’s moves, but when his brother had asked Angelina himself, it took George by surprise.

  “We were getting down to the wire, weren’t we?” Angelina interrupts George’s thoughts. “No one else had asked me, so I figured it was better to go with one twin than none at all.”

  George chooses the wrong moment to polish off the last of his chips. The fried potato catches in his throat, and he coughs it up, all while reaching for the last dredges of his Butterbeer to clear things out.

  Did she just say it was better to go with one twin than none at all? But then that would mean… 

  “Ange, don’t tell me you were waiting for me to ask you.”

  She shrugs and averts her eyes from his gaze. “I mean, I wouldn’t have been disappointed if you’d asked, let’s put it that way.”

  After this revelation, George burst into laughter. To anyone else in the near vicinity, it probably sounded like he should be admitted to the Janus Thickney Ward. He hasn’t laughed this hard since he and Fred were able to pull off a prank on Muriel shortly after arriving at her Manor at the end of March.

  “You—Fred—I—me—” He can’t seem to formulate a coherent string of thoughts until Angelina goes from amused to offended.

  “Honestly, George, I didn’t realize it was that funny. Forget I said anything.” She checks her watch and gathers her bag. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all. It’s getting late, and clearly the thought of the two of us together appalls—”

  She’s in the process of standing up when George sobers from the onslaught of irony and reaches out to grab her wrist.

  “Ange, wait. I’m not laughing at that. Just—just give me a chance to explain, yeah?” He pulls her into the bench beside him, where she lands on her bottom harder than she needed to as she lets out a loud huff of indignation.

  “Fred never intended to go with you when he asked.”

  “Excuse me?” Her eyebrows have raised so high on her face that George is surprised they haven’t gotten lost in her braids.

  “No, what I mean is, he’d been pestering me to ask you since the ball was announced. He knew I had a thing for you—obviously—and was being supportive.”

  It felt weird for George to admit that he fancied Angelina in school now, after so many years of keeping it close to his chest. Fred and Lee were the only two who ever knew.

  “So, what are you trying to say, then?”

  “When Fred asked you...I was shocked, too. I didn’t realize he’d already devised a plan that I didn’t cotton on to right away.”

  The look on Angelina’s face transformed from defensive to shock to comprehension, all in the span of a few seconds. “Don’t tell me…”

  “Being an identical twin has—er, had—its benefits.”

  “So.. are you trying to tell me that I didn’t go to the ball with Fred?”

  “Nope.”

  “And at the end of the night, when I kissed Fred in an attempt to make you jealous, I was actually kissing you all along?”

  “Sorry if it was disappointing.” The wisecrack escapes George’s lips before he can stop it.

  Half of him is expecting Angelina to slap him for the ‘switcheroo’ that he and Fred pulled, and in fairness, they deserved it. What if Ange actually had fancied Fred, and they’d pulled one over on her?

  But to his surprise, Angelina does the opposite. She leans in and kisses George right then and there. The same shock he felt when holding her hand earlier ignites within him once more as he lets his body take control. He allows himself to get lost in the feel of her lips, realizing that it’s the first time he’s truly felt like himself since Fred’s passing. He even dares to let himself think he’s found happiness again.

  Eventually, George pulls away as his lungs begin to burn from the lack of oxygen. They remain close, foreheads touching as he offers a weak smile. 

  “Y’know, I was going to tell you it was me at the end of the night, but how could I when I thought I was going to break your heart when you thought you’d kissed Fred?”

  “You’re insufferable, you know that?” 

  “Yeah, but you can’t argue with sixteen-year-old George’s logic, can you?”

  Ange rolls her eyes and leans back. George misses the contact as soon as it’s gone.

  “What do you say we get out of here?” Ange raises her eyebrows in question as if tempting him to follow when she scoots out from the bench a second time.

  George pulls enough money to cover their meals out of his wallet and leaves it on the table before scooching out behind her. He pays no mind to the remaining customers as he pulls Angelina back into him and whispers in her ear,

  “I’d say we’ve wasted five years of pointless pining to wait any longer.”

[missymurphy1985]

The Return

It's been 2 years since you were last in Dublin. 2 years since you up and left without warning, saying goodbye to your life there and restarting somewhere completely new. Sometimes, you have to go backwards in order to move forwards.

Requested by @noctvrnalmoth I hope you like it!

*Featuring Jim from the Delinquent Season*

Stepping off the train into the platform, you sighed. It all looked the same, and yet so different. Pulling the buggy open, you gently strapped your sleeping son in and made your way to the taxi rank, your suitcase trailing behind you. A kind lady helped you with your bags and waited with you for an available taxi.

"You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders there, are you okay?" She sat next to you on the bench as your son murmured adorably in his sleep. "Sorry, I don't mean to pry..."

"No don't be sorry.. just been a long time since I came back here is all. Few loose ends to tie up." You glanced at your son's sleepy features as his eyes started to open. Beautiful, ocean blue eyes alongside his dark hair, growing more every day... The memories of that night flooding back before you took a large gulp of water from the bottle in your bag, forcing them back down. You'd done so well... 2 years and you'd built a new life in London. New friends, amazing new job allowing you to put that degree in marketing to good use - you were finally making a complete fresh start. But the secrets you had buried deep inside kept coming to the surface the more your son grew. He deserved to know his roots, who his father was, you knew that, but you couldn't do it.

Choking a tear back, you thanked the kind lady for helping you as a taxi pulled up and she helped you to get in.

Pulling up outside your cousin Natalie's townhouse in the city centre, she was waiting for you at the gate to help with Jackson and your bags. Grinning from ear to ear she pulled you in for a huge hug once you'd got inside and settled on her couch as Jackson sat in this new lady's lap tugging at her earrings.

"I can't believe I'm only just meeting him y/n.. he's the image of you!!" She kissed his cheek, bringing him up to look at him properly for the first time not over Skype.

"I never see it, I just see.... I just see him I guess..." You mind wandered to the man you actually saw, but you didn't let it slip.

"Those EYES!!! So blue and vibrant, just beautiful!" Natalie was swooning now, she'd never seen eyes that blue on a baby. Your eyes were brown, so he clearly inherited them from his father, although you had never revealed his identity - just a drunken one night stand and he wasn't involved. You weren't lying, technically...

After catching up properly, Natalie told you she'd planned a few people coming over to welcome you back that evening - nothing major, just a few friends from years ago that were keen to see you after so long away.

"Oh.. yes, that would be nice... Um, who's coming?"

"Well I think David and Amanda, possibly Caroline.. I think Liam is asking Jim too but I'm not sure if he's up for it - he's been through a tough time lately.." you caught a gasp in your throat at the sound of his name. Last you heard, through Natalie, he and Danielle were going through a rough patch. Cheating accusations on both sides, they'd agreed to a trial separation. "Apparently she isn't as broken hearted as once thought - already shacked up with someone new, fancy house on the coast, new Jag on the driveway, she's doing quite well for herself!" Your chin began to wobble, not unnoticed by Natalie, who placed Jackson in his bouncer on the floor and moved to place a hand on your shoulder.

"I'm fine Nat, honestly I'm good. It was a long time ago, things have changed. I'm not that silly little girl with a crush anymore..." Natalie looked into your eyes. Nothing ever got past her.

"Y/n.. when I said I'd never seen eyes that blue, I meant on a baby. Only one person I know has eyes like that, and I think you know too. Tell me the truth, please?" You were frozen, until tears escaped and you couldn't stop them. Jackson looked to see his mum crying and began crying too. Scooping him up, you held him close.

"It happened once... Just once Nat... And he doesn't know and he doesn't need to know, let's just leave it there, yeah?"

"What?? This is Jim's son? I was almost kidding y/n... How could you keep this from him for 2 years??" She was stood up now in complete shock. Jim wasn't just her friend, he was her husband's brother - this made things even more intense. The atmosphere could be cut with a knife.

"Please Nat... This wasn't easy okay? I was 21, I slept with a married man, and I got pregnant... Then mum died.. I had to go back to London to sort out the funeral and the will... I didn't want to be seen as the homewrecker that got herself knocked up..."

"And what about Jackson? Doesn't he deserve to know his father?"

"Of course... And he would.. when I was ready Nat. And I'm not ready..."

"Not ready for what?" Liam, Natalie's husband was stood in the doorway, as you heard the front door close. Now standing next to him was the man you were desperately trying to avoid... Jim stood behind him, eyes wide at the sight of you with a baby in your arms.

"Baby, we need to go pick up that delivery from the post office, remember the one we missed last week?" Natalie pulled a confused Liam out of the room, leaving his brother and you alone.

"Y/n... Hey.. um.. how are you?" You tried to smile in response but your heart was pounding in your chest, you could barely breathe.

"I.. yeah.. um, yeah I'm okay.." you glanced down at his hand.. the wedding ring was gone. "I'm sorry to hear about you and Olivia..."

"Probably for the best eh... We weren't exactly getting along, just stayed together for the kids I think. They're older now though, they're fine. Y/n.. where did you go? Why did you go?"

"My mum was ill... She'd had a stroke and they couldn't save her, I had to go... I just stayed.. and things happened.."

"You had a baby..." He looked at the little boy in your arms, feeling extremely nervous now. "He must be just over a year old, right?" You nodded.

"13 months.."

"And we... We had sex y/n.. the day before you left..." His own breath was faltering now as the dates in his mind started to catch up. Again, you nodded, tears rolling down your cheeks. The realisation of what was happening dawned on Jim. He started to back away, before shaking his head and storming out of the house, the door slamming behind him making you and your son jump.

Your sobs came out in full force now, Liam and Natalie coming back into the room. Liam took Jackson into the kitchen to find him something to eat as Natalie held you.

"It's okay y/n... Give him time yeah? Poor guys just had the shock of his life, he'll come round." Your heart was sinking.. you hadn't meant for any of this to happen, but here it was. The memory of that afternoon had never left you, you hadn't even been able to move on - your son, for starters, looked just like him, how could you find love with anyone with the constant reminder of the man you'd never have around you 24/7.

Flashback

"I'm so sorry Jim, I didn't know who else to call..." You climbed into his car, cheeks burning as he picked you up from outside the pharmacy. You'd been walking along the road when a pothole in the pavement took you by surprise and you'd tripped, your ankle turning funny - the pain was horrific, but no one seemed to be answering your phone calls when you rang around for someone to come pick you up. Reluctantly, you'd dialled Jim's number, your cousin's brother in law. He'd given you his number the previous week, after offering to help you move into your new apartment later that month.

"No problem, I was just dropping the kids at school so I was only round the corner." He helped you into the car and drove you back to his house. "I figured your place is in boxes, no chance of a first aid kit either, I'm guessing?"

"No," You laughed. "Thank you so much.." you grimaced as you turned your foot round, trying to ease the pain.

"Definitely not broken, just need to rest it. I'll put the kettle on." Jim led you into the kitchen and sat you down at the kitchen table, and grabbed an ice pack from the fridge. Lifting your leg onto the chair opposite, he placed the ice pack onto your ankle. "Feeling okay?" He asked, flicking the kettle on and preparing two mugs of coffee.

"Much better.. thank you." Definitely better.. the physical contact from him was driving you insane, you had to swallow the blushes in your cheeks, praying he hadn't noticed.

"I've only got instant coffee... Hope that's okay - Danielle won't let me buy a coffee machine." He rolled his eyes. His wife was one of the tightest women he'd ever met.

"It's fine, thank you.. and I honestly can't thank you enough for coming to get me.. I can't believe how clumsy I am!"

"Hey those pavements are a nightmare - I'm surprised no one's broken a leg yet! Don't you be moving now, I'll take you back home once that swelling has gone down."

"How did you know how to fix it all?"

"I have a son, y/n, who at one stage a few years ago thought he was an actual superhero and would fling himself off anything to check if he could fly.. you learn the difference between a broken ankle and a twisted one pretty quick!" He laughed, remembering the time his son climbed the tallest tree in the park, giving him a heart attack before throwing himself from the top - luckily Jim caught him before he hit the floor.

"I think it's better now, Jim, I can try and walk." You said, after chatting for a while in the large kitchen.

"Let me help you.." he held your hands and guided you upright, your chests now pressed together as you placed your foot gingerly on the floor, testing it's strength. Stumbling slightly, Jim caught you, your bodies now even closer together. You could feel his heart racing, could he feel yours? His hands wrapping around yours, holding you up, an arm snaking round your waist. You looked up and found him looking right back at you, your face inches from his. Before you had time to think, you kissed him, before quickly pulling back.

"Shit I'm sorry... Oh god.. no... I'm sorry..." He took your hand in his and pulled you back to him, pressing his lips back to yours. This time you didn't pull back, your mouth opening allowing his tongue to dance against yours. Lifting you up, he sat you on top of the counter, his hands roaming your body hungrily.

"I can't... I shouldn't..." He murmured against your neck, the vibrations driving you wild with need. "You're so fucking beautiful y/n..." He ground your hips against yours, you could feel his erection through his jeans as you reached down to cup it through them, kneading it slightly. He growled, pulling your hand up to his chest, his heart hammering underneath his shirt. "You feel that? Feel how fast that's going?" Silently you took his hand and placed against your chest.

"Feel mine...." You pushed his hand down lower.. over your breast... Down your stomach and under the waistband of your skirt. His fingers found your folds, and he gasped your name. "I'm wet... I'm so fucking wet..." Lifting your skirt up, he pulled your underwear down. You relieved him of his jeans and they fell to the floor, revealing no underwear, just his huge, hard cock already leaking.

"I see you are too..." You ran a finger along the slit, taking some of the precum and lifting it to your mouth. "You taste good..."

"You want this...?" He asked, lining himself up against you. You nodded, and he pushed in easily, you gasped his name and threw your head back as he filled you completely. Pulling on your hips, he rocked you against him as he moved his own hips back and forth, fucking you against the countertop. You legs wrapped round his waist as his thrusts came harder, deeper, faster.

"Fuck... Right there... Jim... Oh god...." He bit down on your exposed neck, hands pushing against your still covered breasts, he moaned.

"Feels so good y/n... You feel so good... That's it baby, I need to feel you... Cum for me..." You leaned back, and eyes locked with his you drew a hand down to circle your clit as he moved inside you.

"Gonna make myself cum on you... Gonna cum hard for you... Faster Jim..." He pounded into you now, your moans echoing through the kitchen as you came over him, his release following seconds later. Both of you leaned your heads together as your worlds came back into focus.

Present Day

"Hey."

"Hey.." you'd agreed to meet Jim for a coffee a few days later. He'd called you the evening before, slightly tipsy which made you chuckle. Liam and Natalie were watching Jackson while the two of you caught up.

"How's the hangover?" You smiled, he grimaced.

"Well I've definitely felt fresher.. it was a bit of a shock y/n..."

"Listen.. for what it's worth.. I'm sorry. I didn't know I was pregnant until I was nearly 20weeks. With the stress of losing mum and the funeral, I hadn't had a period for a while but I thought it was just the stress.. then my friend convinced me to take a test and the doctors confirming it.. it was too late to do anything about it.. then I heard you and Danielle were trying for another baby and I just couldn't do it Jim.. I couldn't destroy your life like that.." your hands were shaking. He leaned over and took your hands in his.

"I understand y/n.. I do. I spent most of this week thinking about it. I don't blame you for what you did.. but I do wish you'd told me."

"I'd done enough damage Jim, sleeping with a married man? On his kitchen counter where he makes his kids breakfast? Where his wife makes her coffee in the morning? I couldn't face you.. I couldn't face what I'd done.."

"You know where my wife was, that morning?" He leaned back, smiling a little. "At her office, bent over the desk while her boss fucked her from behind. She called my number by accident while it happened. I didn't answer, obviously, I was busy.. but my voicemail picked up the whole thing. I'd had my suspicions for a long time, but that confirmed it. We were never trying for another baby - that's just what she told people to distract them from the fact we were clearly falling apart at the seams. Couldn't exactly be mad at her after what I'd done with you though."

"Did you tell her?"

"Yes, but she didn't know it was you. Then you up and left.. I thought there was no need to tell her who it was. I guess now we kinda have to, right?"

"Jim, I don't expect anything from you, okay? I have an inheritance from my mum, I'm fine for money, there's no need to be involved if it'll cause you problems.."

"No. You've kept him from me for nearly 2 years y/n, don't do this again, please? I'm not asking you to move in, I'm not asking for a relationship, I just want to get to know our boy.. that's all.. please?" You saw it in his eyes. It was there, for all to see. Was it love?

"I'll call Nat.. ask her to bring him over, maybe we could go for a walk?" Jim smiled, nodding. You made the call, and an hour later you were walking to the local park, Jim pushing the stroller. He took Jackson out of the buggy and placed him inside a baby swing, pushing him gently while pulling silly faces making him giggle. Your heart swelled watching them.

"He's incredible.. those eyes.."

"Your eyes, Jim." He looked up at you and smiled listening to his son's giggle, before he started becoming grouchy again.

"He's teething... Come on little man, let's get you back shall we?" Jim lifted him from the swing and placed his little finger in Jackson's mouth. He responded by sucking his gums along it, finding relief. You smiled, watching Him soothe your son's whimpers of pain as his teeth came through.

Making your way inside Natalie's house, you were surprised to find it empty. A note on the kitchen counter read that they'd gone out for the afternoon, they wouldn't be home until the evening. You warmed a bottle of milk for Jackson as Jim gave him some Calpol. Taking the bottle from you, he fed his son, as you watched, heart pounding as you watched the man you were still in love with take such good care of your baby. Within 15 minutes, Jackson was fed and had been rocked to sleep in his father's arms, you took him and placed him upstairs in his cot to nap. You knew he'd be out for at least an hour after all that fresh air. Walking back into the lounge, you found Jim sat on the sofa waiting for you.

"Come here, y/n..." You sat next to him as he turned to face you, hand gently caressing your cheek. "What are we going to do now?"

"I'm heading back to London tomorrow Jim..." His eyes glistened slightly. He'd just found his son, and now he was going again. He'd just got you back in his life, and now you were disappearing again...

"What can I do to make you stay?" His question took you by surprise. Stay?

"Jim, I..."

"I haven't stopped thinking about you.. about what happened 2 years ago. How long I'd wanted you, how long I'd dreamt of you, how I still dream of you even now.. and we share a son y/n.. I can't let you go again, it'd break me.."

"I'm half your age Jim! I'm barely older than your eldest child, how can this possibly work?" He answered with a kiss. Leaning forward to take your mouth against his, without thinking you returned it, linking your fingers with his as he pulled you into his lap.

"It'll work because we'll make it work.. nothing else matters.. all of that other stuff is irrelevant.." he felt you grind your hips against his and his erection was burning against his jeans. He needed you, now.

"And Danielle?"

"Is fucking a man old enough to be her own father - opinion invalid. I don't care about her, I care about you.. please.." he was aware of how desperate he sounded but he didn't care. He had his hand under your t-shirt against your breast, no bra in the way this time. Lifting you up, he carried you upstairs to the guest room you were staying in, and laid you down softly on the bed underneath him.

"Birth control?" He looked at you, smiling.

"The coil - don't worry, I'm covered this time.." You smiled back as he lifted your t-shirt over your head and kissed you again. The reason for being at the pharmacy 2 years ago was to collect your prescription for the pill - you'd not taken it for a couple of days after running out suddenly. After Jackson was born, you switched to a more efficient form of birth control.

Pulling your skirt down and off, along with your underwear, he nestled his face between your thighs, now parted by his hands.

"I want you to watch me y/n... Watch me as I make you cum..." Your core burning, you raised yourself up on your elbows as he blew a hot breath against your wet folds, causing you to shiver under him. He parted your lips with his fingers, before licking from your pulsing hole up to your clit, finding a rhythm that made you cry out and shudder underneath his tongue. Smiling, groaning into you, you tried to keep your eyes on him as he licked and sucked your throbbing clit in his mouth.

"Jim.. don't stop.. oh god..." You hadn't had sex since that afternoon 2 year ago, no one being good enough to compete with the man currently buried between your legs. No pleasure you'd given yourself since was a patch on this, and you felt that burning feeling in your stomach starting to rise. "I'm close... Mm... Fuck I'm close..." Your words barely a whisper but he heard them, pushing harder with his tongue as a finger entered you, hooking upwards to find that spot inside, the one you didn't think actually existed, but there it was.. you bucked against his mouth, coming hard and fast - you felt your liquids gush over his chin, there was no stopping them... "Aha... Oh god Jim... Fuck... Stop, it's too much..." He smiled, blowing another warm breath over you before moving back to your mouth. You could taste yourself on his lips, turning you on even more.

Flipping him onto his back, you lifted his clothes off him and kissed down his chest. Your core needed a breather before you took him inside you. Licking the top of his now rock hard cock, you slowly sank your lips down, taking him fully inside your mouth. You'd never had a strong gag reflex, and you enjoyed the feeling of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

"Holy fuck... Jesus y/n... That's it baby..." Up and down your head bobbed, swapping between hard and light sucks, your teeth gently scraping the underside of his cock and your fingers lightly playing with his balls underneath you. Every time you felt them tighten, you'd ease off, allowing him to catch his breath, before bringing him into your mouth again. After a few near explosions, he couldn't take anymore and lifted you off motioning for you to sit on him. "Ride me y/n..." You smiled, and sank your pussy onto him, allowing him to fill you. Slowly so as to adjust to his length, your hips moved, back and forth, up and down, finding the right rhythm for you both. He sat up, chests together and his hands under your thighs as he rotated his hips from underneath, driving his cock against that magical spot again.

"Yes... God that feels good... Jim..."

"I'm not gonna last long y/n..."

"That's okay.. we've got plenty of time to make up for this... Cum in me, give me all of you..." You felt his cock twitch inside you as he moved your hips faster. Leaning back, you rode him hard, the bed frame squeaking underneath as you both cried out, your climaxes arriving simultaneously. Coming back to rest your head against his, you clenched your core once more causing him to gasp as you drew yourself off him slowly. Lay down next to each other, he pulled you into his arms.

"Did you mean what you said?" He asked, kissing your head gently. "Plenty of time?"

"I meant it, Jim... I need to get back to London to sort a few things, put my flat up for sale.. my job... But yes. If you'll have us, we'll come back.." you looked into his eyes. He lifted your head to kiss you and you felt it. All the love you thought you'd never find, in the man you thought you'd never find it with.

Everything was going to be fine, you couldn't wait to start your life over again, this time for the last time.

@margoo0 @queenshelby @peakyscillian @cloudofdisney @ntmynouis @being-worthy

[joezworld]

Coughs and Sneezles

I am just living for the "Diesel Day" story that everyone's posting about right now.

1989

"I'm telling you, that's how it works!"

"Rubbish! You're pulling my buffer! This island has made you soft in the crank case!"

British Rail had sent a new diesel to the Island of Sodor for testing purposes. He was very strong - both in tractive effort and opinions, which had led to many disagreements between him and the other engines.

Delta, being the cheeky sort, had decided that the best course of action would be to play tricks on him, something which the other engines did not object to!

"Oh? Then how did I get here then?" She said seriously. "What's a big Peak like me doing in steam's last holdout, hmmm?"

She looked around conspiratorially. "It's because of the sneezles!"

"Sneezles."

"Yes! They have a saying here - Coughs and Sneezles Spread Diseasels - and as strange as it sounds, it's real!" She hissed conspiratorially.

The experimental diesel regarded her with a dumbfounded expression. "You've lost your mind! Coughs and Sneezles! What nonsense!"

"It's not nonsense!" She snapped. "There's a few of us on this Island and none of us know how we got here! I was in Derby one minute, and then the next, poof!, I was here!"

"There's something in the diesel fuel here." The other engine said seriously. "You need your filters changed."

"I'm serious! The steam engines - if they sneeze, it does something, and then we end up here! And it works over long distances! I got as far as London and then - achoo! - I was back here!"

"They can... magic you across the country... by sneezing."

"Yes! And it's not just that! The engines who bring us here - they can change us! I was Blue when I got here - so was Bear! Then one time we tried to get out of here; James and Henry sneezed us back and when they did - we turned their colours!"

The Class 60 regarded her with disdain. "I. Don't. Believe. You."

"You don't have to believe me - it's true!" She cried as her signal dropped. "It's happened before and it will happen again!" She said, shouting to make herself heard as she drove away.

"Just you wait and see! You haven't seen a steam engine sneeze before - have you?" Her voice trailed off as she drove away.

The big engine sat in silence at the platform for a moment as Delta's train clattered into the distance. He looked over at the men from British Rail. "Is that something I need to worry about? Do engines go crazy after a while?"

The men looked at each other. They'd never seen anything like that either!

---

A few days later, the Class 60 finished his testing, and was waiting in Barrow yard for his path back to Loughborough. He hadn't seen Delta since their last "encounter", but he was still smarting over it.

"Coughs and Sneezles, really." He grumbled to himself. "Are all engines like that? Maybe there was a reason they were- oh hello?"

He stopped himself mid-sentence as a calamity emerged from the platforms - a porter's trolley carrying some kind of bagged powder had overturned, and it had enveloped the blue steam engine sitting there in a thick cloud of... something.

The blue engine - his name was Greg or Gourd or something like that - tried blowing steam at the cloud to make it go away, but adding steam only succeeded in making it worse. The cloud billowed and swirled - totally obscuring the platforms from sight - causing the engine to wrinkle his nose before he sneezed massively.

Once, twice, three times he sneezed, and nothing happened. The 60 smiled to himself as the steam and dust cleared.

That old Peak is just soft in the engine block, he thought to himself. Coughs and Sneezles, what a load of garbag-

His train of thought came to a screeching, crashing, halt as the last of the cloud cleared. There, sitting on the track next to the steam engine, was a bewildered looking - and unexpectedly blue-and-yellow - Intercity 125.

-

"Gosh, Gordon," Pip said as she blinked the spilled flour from her eyes. "You certainly know how to make the problem smaller!"

"Quiet you." Gordon hissed, mortified.

"I'VE GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE!" Screeched a voice from the yard.

Both engines looked over as the signal dropped, and the class 60 raced out of the yard as fast as his wheels could carry him!

-

Years Later

A seasonal upswing in container traffic had caused the Fat Controller to hire some locomotives from one of the many "Other Railways" that had sprung up out of the ashes of BR.

Most of them were fine, upstanding locomotives, but a few of them were very strange indeed...

"Achoo!" Oliver sneezed. The pollen was getting intense, and it was making his nose itch.

The container train on the line next to him lurched as the big diesel on the front almost jumped out of his plating.

"Are you all right?" He asked.

"Fine!" The big diesel said quickly. "I just don't like sneezes that much."

Oliver didn't know what to say to that.

After a few minutes of silence, he sneezed again, and just like before, the big diesel jumped.

"Is everything all right?" He asked again as one of the main line signals dropped with a clonk.

The big diesel said nothing, instead staring out towards the main line. After a moment, a horn sounded, and the inbound container train rumbled in, another hired diesel at the front. This one came from a different railway, and was in a green and gold livery that Duck had mentioned being quite fond of - he'd said it reminded him of the GWR.

"Good morning Oliver!" The diesel called out as he rolled in. "It seems like I was just here yesterday!"

"That's because you were here yesterday, Fred!" Oliver teased. He felt proud of himself that he was able to talk to more diesels without being scared of them - the new Canadian diesels were very friendly, which helped a lot.

"Yeah, I guess." The green diesel reasoned. "It's almost like that old song - You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave!"

The big class 60, who had been looking at Oliver and Fred's paintwork with increasing horror, squeaked in fear and lurched out of the yard as fast as he could!

Fred and Oliver watched him leave. "Is he all right?" Oliver asked.

"Honestly?" Fred said. "His type has always been kinda tetchy when it comes to you steam engines. Whole class is like that - no idea why."

"Huh".

[scapegrace74-blog]

The Second First Christmas

A/N Despite the fact that I’m posting it after Boxing Day, this little fic is about Metric Jamie and Claire celebrating their first Christmas as a couple.  It is unadulterated fluff, and in keeping with the season of giving, I’m going to give this an Explicit rating.  You’re welcome.

With special thanks to @lady-o-ren, for Jamie’s gift idea!

All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page.

December 24, 2018, Spitalfields, London, England

Claire could hear her phone vibrating loudly on the metal shelf inside her duty locker.  Overcoming fatigue so severe it blurred her vision, she entered her combination and yanked open the door, thumbing the screen just before the call went to voicemail.

How did he do it?  Jamie had an uncanny, and frankly slightly unsettling, ability to guess her whereabouts, even remotely.  The past week he had found her in the massive Spitalfields Market merely on the hunch that she would be craving sushi after her Pilates class.  At one point she’d found his prescience disturbing, but now it soothed her.  Someone cared for her enough, knew her well enough, to plot the passage of her days on the virtual map of his mind.  And that someone was on the line.

“You’ve reached the voicemail for Claire Beauchamp’s circadian rhythm.  Press One if you’re a cortisol suppressant, Two if you’re an espresso machine, or Three if you’re Claire’s boyfriend, last seen in the flesh prior to the winter solstice.”

Jamie’s low rumbling chuckle filled her ear.

“Ye’re verra funny for a lass goin’ on twenty-four hours wi’out sleep, Sassenach. How was yer shift?”

Having worked most holidays in the A&E since graduating nursing school, Claire knew they went one of two ways: either complete bedlam, or utter boredom.  This one had been the latter, for which she was thankful.

“Surprisingly calm, but that means no lovely adrenaline to keep me awake.  I may sleepwalk into the Thames on my way home.  Are you at the station already?”

“Aye, jus’ starting my shift.  Can ye be at the main entrance of the hospital in five minutes?  I’ll call ye an Uber.”

“Jamie, that’s really not necessary.  I’m quite capable of walking...”

“Claire...” he interrupted, and needn’t say anything more.  They’d had numerous conversations and minor confrontations since becoming a couple over what Jamie termed her “wee addiction to self-sufficiency”.  She was trying to learn to accept help when it was offered, but it was an iterative process.

“Thank you.  I’d appreciate that.  Will I see you tomorrow morning before I go back on duty?”

Both Jamie and Claire were working extra hours over the holidays to offset the cost of refurnishing their flat.  Every minute spent together was therefore doubly precious.

“Aye, I’ll wake ye when I get in an’ we can celebrate our second first Christmas t’gether by tryin’ tae keep the other awake long enough tae open our presents.”

She smiled, but it morphed into a yawn.

“Get some rest, Sassenach.  And Claire,” he added in a serious tone, “t’would be a fine gift tae find ye in my bed, preferably naked, when I come home on Christmas morn.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she husked, suddenly much more awake.

***

There was a puff of cool air and then the Earth moved.  Straining to hold onto slumber, Claire rolled away from the disturbance, gripping the blanket beneath her chin.  A low chuckle preceded a solid warmth radiating along the entire length of her spine.  Something bristly abraded her shoulder and she flinched away.

“Has anyone told ye ye look like a wee hedgehog when ye sleep, Sassenach?”

“I’m fairly confident they haven’t,” she retorted, rolling onto her back and stretching before opening her eyes.  The room was mostly dark, but Jamie’s auburn curls glowed in the dim lamplight escaping their living room.  His bare shoulders were humid and pink from the shower.  “What time is it?” she asked.

“Gone four.  We have a few hours afore ye have tae be back at the A&E, aye?”

“Mmmm,” she hummed affirmatively, caught up in tracing the ligatures of Jamie’s upper arm.

“Good.  That should leave us jus’ enough time.”

“Just how many presents are we exchanging?” Claire laughed, mesmerized by the eager passage of Jamie’s eyes over her face.  The hand that wasn’t bracing his head aloft began a lazy exploration beneath the blankets, touching her naked skin so softly that it almost tickled.

“Only two.  An’ the first one’s already unwrapped.”

“How fortuitous,” she teased before leaning upwards to capture his waggish lips in a warm introductory kiss.  “Merry Christmas,” she murmured as they parted some time later.

“An’ tae ye as well, Sassenach.  Ye canna imagine how many times I thought of ye t’night, yer beautiful skin warm against my sheets.”  Jamie’s free hand was on the move again, firmer now along the contours of her body as it came alive to his touch.

“Slow night, then?” she gasped as his knuckle found her nipple, slackened with sleep.

“Painfully so.”

There was no further conversation for a time, mouths being employed far more enjoyably.  Four months of intimacy had bridged the span from friends to lovers, replacing hesitation with ardour.  They were still learning each other’s tells; when to lead and when to follow, how to ask and how to demand.  It was a giddy education for them both.  

Tonight, Jamie’s fatigue and drawn-out anticipation left him shaking with want, a sensation akin to sharing a bed with an earthquake.  His broad torso was outlined in the light from the door as he knelt between her thighs, lust pinwheeling like sparklers in his eyes.  Fortunately, condoms were no longer a necessity after they both produced clean blood tests and Claire had an IUD implanted.  So when he slid into her body, there was nothing but the needy clasp of flesh on flesh.  Her sigh of pleasure mingled with Jamie’s groan of relief as they began their dance.

“Yer breasts, mo nighean donn,” Jamie growled past the iron clench of his jaw.  She dragged her pupils down from the back of her eyelids to observe the twin objects in question, undulating in time to their meeting and parting.

“Touch them for me,” Jamie commanded.

Aware that her every movement was being minutely observed, she made a show of arching her ribs and running her hands first beside, then below, and finally between her breasts.

“Seadh, mo ghaol.” The words snuck unbidden between Jamie’s strained lips.  She didn’t have the Gaihldig, but his meaning was clear.  Go on.  So go on she did, dragging fingernails over the creased flesh of each areola before giving both nipples a sudden pinch.  Whatever tectonic fluctuations her actions caused, Jamie felt them, for he let out an ecstatic whimper.  A worried furrow now marred his brow.  Her fluent eyes read the desperation written on his face.  He didn’t have long, and he needed her to go before him.

Her right hand drifted down to where they were joined.  His cock was thoroughly coated in her moisture as it emerged from her body.  Wetting her fingertips, she began to trace the intricate geometry of self-pleasure against her flesh.  Breathy moans filled the air.  Jamie’s teeth were bared in a snarl of panicked concentration.  She wasn’t going to overtake him in the wire sprint to the finish, she realized.

“Do it, Jamie.”  His crazed glance snapped upward to meet her own certain one.  Doubt clouded the seascape of his irises.  “God, please,” she begged.  They’d spoken of it.  A fantasy.  A mental titillation not yet brought to life.

Resolution came just in time.  Slipping from her heat, he grasped himself and with two hard strokes erupted all over her skin with a hoarse cry, anointing the final acceleration of her fingers as she echoed his climax with a convulsion and a sob.

Minutes later, they lay side by side, still recovering their breath.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Claire warned.  “We still need to exchange gifts.”

“Greedy wee thing,” Jamie groaned, already halfway to slumber.

***

A shared shower and two cups of strong coffee later, they sat on their new sofa.  Claire’s carefully wrapped gift for Jamie lay on the coffee table before them.

“I can’t help but notice that there’s nothing under our tree for me, Fraser.”

“Och, ye mean ye expect me tae serve ye and give ye a wee present, Sassenach.  Ye truly are greedy,” he groused dramatically.  Standing, he extended his hand and confused, Claire allowed him to lead her towards her bedroom.  For a moment she considered that he might actually be taking her back to bed.  As he turned on the light she understood his intention.

As a lifelong wanderer, Claire could count on the fingers of one hand her precious material possessions.  Her mother’s emerald earrings.  Her father’s pocket watch.  A jade fish from the Cat Street night market in Hong Kong, a lucky talisman she carried in her pocket for every test and exam.  And a beautiful antique print of Persepolis left to her by her Uncle Lamb.  All but this last had survived their apartment fire unscathed, but the water and smoke damage to its parchment had been irreparable.  Or so she had believed.

“Jamie,” she gasped upon seeing the lithograph once again mounted in its frame on her wall.  “But... how?”

“Well, I willna bore ye with the details, but suffice it tae say that there’s an antiquarian o’er in Bermondsey who can work miracles.  There’s still a wee bit o’ smudging near the edges, but I reckon it adds to its character,” he explained.

“A palimpsest,” she said, taking his hand.  At his questioning look, she explained, “when one story is written overtop of an older one.  This print is a remembrance of my Uncle Lamb and his love for me.  And now, when I look at it, I’ll be reminded of your love as well.”

“Aye, just so,” he agreed.

***

Claire was unaccountably nervous as Jamie began to unwrap her gift.  She’d felt certain she’d picked just the right thing for him; personal without being sappy, meaningful without being extravagant.  But with eyes still misty from the thoughtfulness of his present to her, she was having doubts.

“Tis rather heavy,” Jamie observed as he lifted the rectangular package onto his lap.  His eyes were alight with childlike glee, which was a gift unto itself.

“A chess set!”  His smile was genuine, but Claire’s heart plummeted.  What kind of woman bought her lover a chess set?  She began to stammer.

“I... ummm... I thought you could invite your friend John over to play.  You mentioned missing the challenge, and ummm....” she broke off, floundering, but Jamie paid her no heed.  He was lifting each wooden piece from its velvet resting place, inspecting its shape with a look of utter fascination.

“Where did ye find this, Claire?” he asked at last.

“Oh, uhh, online, actually.  It’s from a store in Inverness, but of course I wasn’t able to...”

“It’s Culloden,” Jamie interrupted.

“Errr, yes.  I thought, you know, a chessboard is a tactical battlefield.  And with you being Scottish and your family’s Jacobite history...”

“Claire, this is the most amazing chess set I’ve e’er seen.   Look here.  See this wee knight?  Tis a Scotch Hussar.  An’ the white king is the Duke of Cumberland.”  Jamie’s finger traced the words and images carved on the plinth of each piece, going on and on about the clans represented by the tacksmen pawns and his own grandsire, Lord Lovat, symbolized by a tiny strawberry carved on the base of an ebony rook.  Claire’s ribs began to loosen their vice-grip on her lungs.  Maybe she hadn’t horribly miscalculated after all.

“Sassenach, thank ye.  Truly.   Tis a grand gift.”  The chess set had finally been set aside and they sat facing each other, hands gently caressing as the winter sun slowly warmed the room in tones of blush and grey.

“You’ve very welcome.  I’m so relieved that you like it,” she replied with candour.

“I love it.  But no’ half sae much as I love ye.”

“I love you too.”  It was only after the words had taken flight from her lips that she realized she had never said them aloud before.  Not to Jamie, whose sudden stillness indicated that he had heard her.  It was too late, then, to pluck her soaring words from the air and cage them once again inside her heart.  Too afraid to meet his gaze, she concentrated on smoothing her palms over the backs of his hands in a hypnotic rhythm. 

His response, when it came, was whispered into the secret stronghold they had built together.

“There’s naught on Earth tae compare wi’ the gift of yer heart, mo nighean donn.  I want ye tae ken that I shall treasure it, an’ ne’er give ye reason tae regret placing it with me for safekeeping.”

Jamie lifted her hands to his mouth and kissed them both sweetly.  Still looking down, she nodded her acceptance of his pledge, a single tear escaping from the tip of her nose.

It was well past sunrise by the time Claire rose from their bed a second time, kissing her sleeping lover goodbye before creeping out of their flat and into the gemstone light of a perfect Christmas morning.

[silentauroriamthereal]

2020 fic year in review

I was tagged by my lovely @khorazir! Thanks, you! 

Total number of completed stories: Three, but two of them were fairly long? I wrote: 

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: John/Sherlock, 50,689 words, explicit, John POV. Set in New York, because I was itching to go there and couldn’t, and setting a fic somewhere is the next best thing. Probably my most political fic to date, this one was a deliberate reversal of the fake-couple-for-a-case trope, aka I wanted to create a setting wherein John and Sherlock become a couple during a case but need to keep it a secret for the sake of the case. So I set it at a massive, anti-gay conference in the US. Naturally. :P 

Sine Nomine: John/Sherlock, 45,626 words, explicit, mostly John POV with sections of Mycroft and Sherlock POV as well. In fact, though the sections aren’t equal in length, it’s symmetrical: it goes Mycroft POV/John POV/Sherlock POV/John POV/Mycroft POV. This story has a dark premise and a particularly dark setting for one section. It’s based on the concept of Mycroft rewatching the footage of John beating Sherlock in the morgue for the hundredth time or so and revisiting the question of whether John had been the making of his brother, or made him worse than ever. He’s definitely come to the latter conclusion, but decides to give John one final chance in the form of a test. John, for his own reasons, makes what Mycroft deems the incorrect choice, and Mycroft basically sends him into a death trap. The setting of this place is officially set in Serbia with indirect hints at events similar to the Srebrenica Genocide in Bosnia, but the actual setting is Syria, which I’ve just spent the past year studying intensely. Putting a slice of that into the dark core of this story, albeit disguised as another place, was strangely cathartic for me. The title, which is Latin for “no name”, is a double reference to the village here, which Sherlock and Mycroft never name, ominously referring to it only as “the village”, both to each other and to John, as well as John’s never-named or owned feelings for Sherlock. This one is close to my heart for a lot of reasons, but most of all because of Syria. Also, the vast majority of the time in my writing, I choose a singular POV and stick to it very closely for the entire story. Choosing to rotate between these three men essentially allowed me to show how they’re all justified in their own decisions here, and to examine the relationships between all three of them. It’s a story about reckonings and eventual, hard-won reconciliations. 

The Secret of Hazel Grange. Sherlock/John, 18,181 words, explicit, Sherlock POV. I’m going to claim that the reason I only managed to swing three fics this entire year is partly that I put another project on hold in order to write this one, lol. This is the third Christmas fic I’ve written and I’m happy with how it came out. It’s also the only story I’ve written that’s explicitly set during this pandemic, and during the second London lockdown, which is eerily similar to the code red lockdown my own city is in, so it just felt right. It’s been a somewhat miserable holiday season for me (so many reasons, including unhappiness at work and an illegally high rent increase that my apartment building is putting through, on top of the pandemic and all of that isolation and all of those cancellations), so writing some happy endings for someone else was pure escapism for me. Hopeful for others, too! 

Total word count: 114,496 words of posted fic. 130,796 if we’re counting my work-in-progress that got interrupted for the Christmas fic. :)

Fandoms written in: BBC Sherlock.

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected? I wrote about what I thought I expected to be able to write. Right now, I have a full-time job, a part-time job, and then freelance work, all to attempt to make ends meet, so I have very little spare time to write in, unfortunately. So getting over 100k words in is actually somewhat miraculous to me. It feels like not very much when it’s just three stories, but I guess it still amounts to a fair number of words? 

What’s  your own favourite story of the year? Picking favourites is always tough, but for the Syria connection, I’d have to go with Sine Nomine. 

Did you take any writing risks this year? I suppose that going so hard on the whole Republican anti-gay groups thing could be considered “risky” in some circles, but not really hereabouts! LGBTQ+ rights is one of my areas of advocacy (in fact, I’m a founding member of the Rainbow Equity Council at my workplace and spent a crap ton of time this month drafting governance documentation for it), but genocides are the issue that are really closer to my heart, so the Syria connection, even if it wasn’t named outright, could also be seen as a “dangerously” political stance, I suppose. But compared to other writing choices (like Scars, which features actual rape, or any of my Freebatch stuff, or any of the stories where Mary is an overt terrorist (rather than “just” a freelance assassin, lol)), I don’t really think I was terribly risky this year. 

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year? The first item on the agenda is to get back to work on Nocturne, my WIP. After that, we’ll see. That said, I STILL would like to get back to searching for an agent for my novel, which is strongly based on Against the Rest of the World. I would also like to write that Johnlock cookbook I keep vaguely promising (it would feature recipes from my fics), and in a quirky “other” sort of project, I also wrote a heap of haikus about Republicans this fall that I’d like to see about getting published. Want a taste? Sure you do. I give you: 

Brett Kavanaugh

Brett has a face like

a snarly little hedgehog.

He likes beer, okay?!

Mitch McConnell

Moscow Mitch is a

corrupt turtle who keeps his

balls in his neck pouch

Most popular story of the year? Well, the longer a story is posted, the more time it has to collect hits, kudos, bookmarks, and comments, obviously, so that makes The Four Horsemen the clear winner here. 

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: From this year or in general? :P I often find that my plottiest, most detailed, most researched stories that I personally think contain some of my most thoughtful writing are the ones that get the least attention. For instance, after series 3 aired, I wrote three back-to-back intensely-detailed series 3 fix-it fics (which all, to their credit, do get plenty of attention, though none so much as Vena Cava, the third of the three). Then I wrote a light-hearted, almost-crack porn fic, more as mental relaxation than any sort of literary genius, and that fic - Best of Three - remains my most wildly-popular story of anything I’ve ever written. It used to frustrate me, but now I’m just grateful to have anyone read anything of mine. But along that theme, yeah: the most complex of this year’s stories (Sine Nomine) is probably the one I feel is the least appreciated, but that’s also fine. No complaints here - I’m very lucky to have the readership I have!! 

Most fun story to write: Sine Nomine, for all the reasons I talked about above, though I’d also call this the most emotionally-invested story of mine from this past year. That said, setting any story in Manhattan is always going to be fun, and I loved researching approximately 500 holiday rental properties in various parts of England in order to finally just create my own, aka Hazel Grange, lol. 

Most unintentionally telling story: Ha, well, if you weren’t sure about my stance on gay rights, marriage equality, or Republicans in general, The Four Horsemen should clear that up pretty distinctly, lol! 

Biggest disappointment: Just that I haven’t had more time to write. 

Biggest surprise: Possibly that I felt so able to represent all three POVs in Sine Nomine as equally as I did. By that, I don’t mean being able to write in their perspectives, but rather in presenting their arguments with (I hope) equal persuasion: Mycroft thinks that John’s entire presence in Sherlock’s life has spelled nothing but disaster for Sherlock. He’s arguably not wrong. He decides that John is out of chances, and that he’s justified in being the one to make that call. Sherlock disagrees, hard, and he’s not wrong. John makes the choice he makes for his daughter, not for the choice Mycroft gives him between choosing either Mary or Sherlock once and for all, and he’s not wrong to have done that, or unjustified in wanting to go and demand some answers from Mary, who isn’t dead after all, here. But then I think that their various reasons for reconciliation are all equally justified, too. I hope! Usually when you stick to one perspective, the story naturally gears itself to persuade the reader to identify with that one character and to take their side. Here, I hope I manage to juggle the balance fairly equally. 

I don’t know who’s been tagged in this already, but I’ll tag: @totallysilvergirl, @blogstandbygo, @nade2308, @weneedtotalkaboutsherlock, @hubblegleeflower, and anyone else who writes. 

[passionate-hedgehog]

Impasse

Impasse is a 3-part series revolving around Reader entering society in Regency-Era London. Completely inspired by me binging the entirety of Bridgerton in less than 24 hours, Impasse will end with either Duke Damien Haas x Reader, or Courtney Miller x Reader.

♥Part 1♥

Pairings: Eventual Damien Haas x Reader, Eventual Courtney Miller x Reader

Warnings: None, lovelies

Word Count: 1433

A/N: I got an anon req for a Courtney Miller x Reader fluff, but then this happened...and it’s bigger than it was meant to be...I’m well aware that I’m tagging names that aren’t in this installment of Impasse. But just wait! They’ll be in the next two parts. This will be a 3 part series only. It will not be updated every day. But my prompt notebook series will be a “filler”. If you’ve watched Bridgerton, then can we be friends and discuss the ending?????? OMG. Enjoy♥

The town square was a-flood with decorations for upcoming festivities. The tall posts of oil lamps were strung with vines covered in roses. Streets and walkways were swept clean regularly in hopes that those with higher society ranks would make their way through and be impressed. Building fronts were wiped, banisters were polished, windows were crystal clear. Excitement was buzzing all around for the beginning of The Season.

The House of Topp was alight with anticipation. The youngest of the twins, Y/n, had been prepping to come out to society. She was beyond that of the average age for girls to enter the court. Most of the time, this would bring a disadvantage to the families, joining society so late. To Y/n, however, this would only make her more assured.

 Viscountess Topp had long-since passed, moments after delivering her youngest children; Shayne and Y/n. They lived with their father and also their eldest brother, Ian. Once Ian grew to be a man respectable in age and career, Viscount Topp left the household for business quite some years later. He never returned, but often wrote to recount his family on all of the happenings amongst himself and his work. Rumors flew, as they often do in society, that the Viscount found a new love, maybe even sired more children. Of course, the household of Topp denied all and every rumor. 

       Many in society had been waiting to see what had become of The Honorable Y/n Topp.

----

The young housemaid fretfully knocked on the bedroom door in an attempt to wake the sleeping woman on the other side. “Miss Y/n! You must get up and begin the preparations for today’s event! Miss Y/n? Please! You know how much work has to be put in for you to be presented in front of Queen Charlotte. Miss Y/n?”

“Step aside, Caroline. You’ll never get her to respond with such a mollified tone.” The head housekeeper turned from the young woman to the white oak door separating the two servants from the slumbering girl. “Miss Y/n! You must wake up this instant! I will NOT sit by and let you squander your chances to withhold your family’s honor and pride. You have until the next ringing of the church bell before you’re bottom is sitting down in the day room for your morning tea. Do I make myself clear?”

The housekeeper walked away leaving Caroline in wait for her charge. But soon enough, Y/n emerged from her quarters. The two looked at each other and giggled.

“One of these days she’s going to rip the door off of the wall,” Y/n said as she raked her fingers through her hair while the two women made their way to the day room. 

“I can’t imagine how any of your future children will behave, with a mother that likes to test the patience of the help.” Caroline tittered.

“Caroline…” Y/n looked at her with a mark of disdain.

“My apologies, Miss Y/n. I know your stance on having a baby. I just can’t help it sometimes. I’ve known you since we were in leading-strings.”

This caused Y/n to smile ever so softly. “Back when it was the three of us against the world.”

“I know you miss her, M’lady. I do, too. But our friend is doing what she loves. Surrounded by what she loves. That is what’s important to the story.” Caroline laid a gentle hand on her arm.

“When did you get so wise, my dearest friend?”

The cocked eyebrow should have been enough of an answer. “You have never worked for someone like you.”

After entering the day room, Y/n approached her family, giving them kisses on the tops of their heads. “Good morning, Big Brother. I hope you slept well.”

Ian put down the articles he had been reading to make eye contact with his sister. “Are we talking quantity or quality?”

“Hmm, I suppose that question means you did not. Please don’t work yourself into an early grave. Shayne will let this home fall to rubble.” Y/n took a seat next to her twin, setting into her fruit platter and tea.

“Pardon me, dear sister? What makes you think you could fair any better?” Shayne turned to his sister, flicking her elbow.

“Oh, I’m sure it would be just as disastrous. That is why our brother needs to retire at a decent time tonight. We know he’s not off gallivanting about trying to raise a raucous, nor does he acquire the skill of stealth. We know he’s not leaving after the sun leaves. He’s working. He’s working for us and our home. But sometimes he works too much.” Y/n stood up from where she was sitting. “I’m off to become presentable for her majesty. Ian, dearest brother, please take better care of yourself. At least for this night. You deserve it.”

---

It is tradition, that when a young woman presenting to the queen, that they are to be accompanied by their mother, or governess. While Y/n had neither of those, she was not shy about her intentions. She walked down the carpet with a smile befitting a crown of daisies and baby’s breath. She kept her head up to the onlookers, but her eyes down, to the feet of the queen.

Her majesty had sounded rather curious but ultimately pleased with what was before her. She gave her pleasant regards to the curtseying young woman and waved her away, waiting for the next one.

Y/n and her handmaid stood to the side of the room, patiently waiting along with the others to be sent out. Her job for the day was done. The next morning would bring her callers, potential matches for marriage. While the act was what she knew she was getting into, it was one she most detested. Y/n watched her eldest brother work to the bone for most of his life. Ian would have to find and wed someone capable of being with him as he carried on the family name. Her twin, Shayne, didn’t have such responsibilities. He was free to join military ranks, or travel, or receive the highest education. He had spoken on the latter quite often, but Y/n guessed that he was too worried to leave his only family behind. But Y/n? Her duties were as they always were and would be for the firstborn daughters; to enter society and be wed to someone with financial status. She would carry on the name of her husband and raise children for him. It was a fate that she often fought with herself over. How could she be a mother when she didn’t have one next to her in her whole life? How could she be a decent parent when her own father left his family behind to do God knows what in God knows where?

Arriving back at the manor, Y/n and Caroline made their ways back to the drawing-room, to share discourse with her twin. She had wanted to share her experience of presenting to the queen with Shayne, maybe share a joke about the others. She wasn’t expecting, however, to meet more than her twin standing at the tea table. 

“Lord Haas?” Caroline raised her eyebrows as her charge choked on her words.

“Miss Y/n. How lovely to see you again!” The Duke walked up to Y/n, bowing in front of her. “You look as beautiful as ever.”

The two young women shared a quick look before they both turned their attention back to the men standing before them. “I...thank you, Lord Haas. I had to put on everything to meet the queen today. I’m honored that you think so highly of my efforts and the efforts of my maids. I’m surprised to see you here, however. Your duties as a duke have left you some spare time?”

“As a matter of fact, I came here today to speak with Ian. I have a...question...I’d like to present to him. Is he around?” The Duke held his hands behind his back while peering around the room.

Shayne spoke up. “He had to run a quick business errand. He should be back before nightfall. Would you care to stay until then? We can catch up.”

“Thank you, dear friend, that sounds perfect.” The man turned to Y/n and gave a nod. “I look forward to seeing you during my stay here in town. I believe it will be even brighter, now.”

[ladychimera]

I sort of regret getting into Miraculous Ladybug, because the show itself is a raging dumpster fire, but (parts of) the fandom make up for it.  But I still can’t help but bemoan all of the wasted potential.  Like imagine…

(I’m sure this is going to get long, so hope the cut works.)

---

To start off (and this is probably going to piss a lot of people off but bear with me) imagine if there was no Love Square bullshit.  Adrien/Chat can just have a healthy level of admiration towards Ladybug, especially since he’s been there with her from day one and seen how she’s grown into a determined and clever hero.  Marinette and he could still have the umbrella scene if that’s how they clear up the misunderstanding between them, but she can end up finding that he’s a nice boy who she could see herself being friends with.  And that’s what they could be here – just friends - but not in the repetitively, cringe-inducing way like canon keeps pushing.  This would leave them to be able to joke and pun and banter, whether as civilians or superheroes, and both will know it’s all in fun.  This could help with a lot of the problems a lot of us have with Adrien/Chat too beyond the unwanted advances and all of that.  It would likely also help him grow into someone who could be let in on things earlier than he is in canon (so no scenes like That One in Syren).  

Events can still play out similar to canon, but we can get actual character development, and plot development, and world/lore building. Nino and Alya can still get the Turtle and Fox temporarily.  I don’t know about Chloe and the Bee.  If she actually got proper redemption (and not one stretched out over so many episodes without showing much actual progress that most of us just gave up caring before the creators just gave up on it themselves), maybe things could still happen there, but she’d definitely need to actually face consequences for what she did there.  That could even be what helps spur her to try and better herself instead of solely coming from Ladybug.

Then this is kind of where I can’t help but think how things could have gone differently.  Say after Heroes Day and all of that mess Marinette begins thinking that…maybe they should have more permanent heroes.  Trying to deal with an Akuma and realizing they need back-up, going to Fu and picking a Miraculous that could work for the situation, chasing down the person she wants to give it to (If they’re not already there as a matter of convenience. And I’m sure there are enough of us who [kind of] hate someone being given a Miraculous as a matter of convenience.), and going through all of that detracts from dealing with the situation.  She discusses it with Chat, and he quickly agrees, so they go to Fu.

In this ‘verse Fu would be given the chance to actually interact with them regularly beyond “Marinette goes to him for Miraculous” and he’s also able to realize his mistakes.  When the three of them sit down to discuss this situation he might be the one to bring up that, despite Chat Noir being a fitting partner for Plagg and the Black Cat Ring, it was probably a mistake to send out the two Miraculous needed for the reality-bending wish.  Since that can’t be taken back now that Paris knows both are already within the city, they land on maybe the Turtle being the one to sort of give this “Adding More Permanent Heroes” thing a test run, especially since that was probably the one he should have sent out instead.  At this point Adrien and Marinette still haven’t revealed who they are to each other, but when Ladybug suggests Nino again it kind of…just happens lol  They might be a bit chagrinned that they didn’t realize who the other was sooner (and not realizing that Nino’s Carapace might make Adrien want to smack his head into a wall even with the reason being the Miraculous glamor hiding it – THAT’S HIS BEST FRIEND! And they’re actually shown to be in this AU :l ) but it goes over well enough.  There’s still the threat of if one of them is Akumatized and possibly giving the others away, but in this ‘verse they actually have SUPPORT. From each other with no superhero-related secrets between them.  Give my girl the support she needs and deserves especially! Fuck canon with its constant shitting on her.  SERIOUSLY.  They’d also be able to cover for each other whether as heroes or as civilians (so stuff like less ridiculous excuses to go transform).

So…Permanent Turtle!Nino. My boy would deserve it, especially if they kept his first season personality and just built on it (instead of having him be basically relegated to “being pulled around by Alya” whenever the creators deign to even have him show up :l ).  At this point Marinette, Adrien, and Fu might need to discuss how much to bring Nino in on (including meeting Fu), but I don’t think it would take them long to realize that he fits the Turtle and maybe it’s time for him to meet the Guardian and find out who Paris’s heroes are.  How he reacts to that is up to you.  When they get to talking about the old Order of Guardians maybe one of the three kids brings up making a New Order (because Feast hasn’t happened yet for one), maybe as an offhanded comment, but it doesn’t sound like a completely bad idea.  Fu, thinking about his past mistakes (and we also don’t know how much he actually learned before the Fall or what he might have learned from the kwami since), might not know whether to agree with it or not, but the other three have kind of taken off with the idea and Adrien or Nino might even make (another) offhand comment that it’d be like they’re creating their own Miraculous Justice League or something (and that’s what I’m going to refer to this AU as I guess – “Miraculous League AU”) so he’s basically, ‘Well, I guess this is happening then.’  Probably wouldn’t take long to start discussing who would fit the other Miraculous after that.

Now…Alya and the Fox… To be honest I don’t think she really fits the Fox.  That was more one of those “matter of convenience” type of situations.  Since we don’t know much about the ones that haven’t been used yet, if we go sort of by what the zodiac signs mean, maybe she’d be better suited for the Boar/Pig?  I don’t know…  There’s also the problems with her design as Rena ugh. To me the Fox seems better suited for a creative type who can keep themselves out of sight (This is the only credit I’ll give Lila/Volpina – she knew to hide herself when making her illusions.). So who is a quiet, creative type they know?  Well, it probably wouldn’t take long at all for Marinette to think of Marc and Nathaniel. Honestly both of them could work for the Fox, but for this AU I can’t help but lean more toward Marc (and this would mean Nathaniel could have what I picture for the Rooster, but Fox!Marc and Rooster!Nathaniel would probably require their own post).  She might even make up her mind if Nathaniel was Akumatized again and Marc wanted to help.  So now we have the Fox added in (and I don’t know when I’d want Nathaniel brought in on stuff).  Also I know there’s the whole “an Akuma isn’t really who that person IS” thing (though I side-eye that with ones like Silencer or even Bubbler. I think it’s more a matter of the negative emotion being amplified so much they sort of become twisted versions of themselves?), but I don’t think Reverser is given enough credit.  I think he’s been one of the closest after Dark Owl to actually getting the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous. I think Marc would make for a good hero.

As they discuss the other Miraculous as soon as they reach the Monkey Marinette and Nino are both, “Kim.” And they’re so quick and blunt and adamant with that response that Fu doesn’t question it. I mean come on who else fits it as well as Kim?!  Not to mention not only was the boy fucking robbed in his own hero debut episode, they’ve known him since kindergarten (and in this ‘verse they’d actually be really close like “He’s/She’s like a brother/sister to me” close. It’s also why Marinette was so adamant about Nino.).  Now the Monkey is still really special, so while they might decide it might not be bad to bring him in as the next permanent user they might make it a point that he’s not necessarily joining every battle even if he’s able to.  All they need to go wrong is him/his summoned item accidentally being knocked into any of them but Ladybug or Chat in particular after using his power.  This also solves the disaster that was Party Crasher.

That leads to talking about the Snake.  I’m not sure whether I’d want Desperada moved up in the timeline or not, but at this point Marinette probably hasn’t had much interaction with Luka just yet to automatically think he’d be a perfect match (which he definitely is) for the Snake so it would probably need to be, though there might still be a slight hiccup with Adrien maybe taking a few turns until he not only realizes that he is NOT fit for the Snake (and that’s ok) but that Luka IS.  On a side note with no Love Square bullshit that whole cringe-inducing guitar scene would also either not happen or happen in a similar way but because Jagged just kind of put the spotlight on Marinette but she doesn’t want to push Luka into working with someone who his mom just kind of tore into so in a kind of bit of panic goes with Adrien.  And no Love Square also prevents that whole thing with Adrien resetting almost 26,000 times because WHAT EVEN.

Since they discussed Kim already (and brought him into the loop), they can’t help but think of Max (whether at Kim’s prompting or otherwise I like Kimax leave me alooone lol).  Which one suiting him might not be obvious at first though, but given what Voyage entails it might not be bad to have an analytical mind like Max using the Horse. I mean his first time using it he managed to get them from SPACE to almost exactly in London where he wanted. Not to mention I can’t see him having been in Marinette’s grandpa’s place to know where to put the portal in order to do so successfully and be right there to grab the radio he needed without him having a natural affinity for the Horse.  Also WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH MAX AND THE HORSE ANYWAY?!  Mind-controlled Max was able to send Chat HURTLING INTO THE SUN. The kid’s a natural with the Horse even when mind controlled, but that’s also making the Horse like stupid OP.  Or at least when Max uses it.  I don’t know how I’d want Startrain to line up with this, though it would be better to happen after (probably right after) he’s brought in so he knows the others are there but they still have a reason for the Horse to be available if anyone questions anything.  This also prevents another “matter of convenience” situation.  They’d need to make it clear to Markov what to say or not to say and when though.

I can’t really say much about Kagami and the Dragon honestly.  I mean at least she’d be familiar with wielding a sword, but I’d need to see her use of the other elements to get a better idea of how it might work in this AU.  Adrien might suggest her after getting to know her some through fencing club, but it might still end up being sort of a “matter of convenience” situation depending on when he does vs when her mom might end up Akumatized.  They would need to press not revealing herself to others outside of the group though.

Alix is in a similar boat. Her situation could go a lot like canon, but she’d actually be included in knowing who was who and the discussions they have like the ones at Fu’s.

On the matter of Lila it would definitely go differently than canon.  With no Love Square Alya has no reason to dismiss Marinette as merely jealous because Lila’s getting so close to Adrien.  Nino and Kim would also have a huge problem if Lila tried to turn the class against Marinette.  Alya would also stand up for her girl and be questioning all of the ridiculous things Lila says anyway (She’s supposed to want to be a journalist. She should be questioning all of the shit Lila spews.). Max would also have a problem just from a logical standpoint with all of the shit she says.  Adrien would also know that Lila’s lying because he knows Marinette is Ladybug, so we could also not have the High Road bullshit talk.  Nathaniel would also probably be questioning things, especially if he’s already become the Rooster, but even if he wasn’t Marc would probably help keep him grounded.  All of this might make Lila either give up on her lame lies, or she could actually become the master manipulator the show wanted her to be but without having to dumb down the entire cast for it to “work.”  This could very well also be the groundwork for why she might be the next Hawkmoth, especially if he partners up with her more often (whether to give her more Akuma or let her help him make more).  

Another thing that would be different in this AU is concerning the Miraculous themselves. While ones like the Ladybug earrings, Black Cat ring, and even ones like the Snake bangle and Turtle bracelet are rather inconspicuous, a lot of the others aren’t.  Not to mention you can’t tell me the Rabbit has always been a pocketwatch or the Horse always having been a pair of sunglasses.  In this AU while they might keep their past/last form while dormant in the Miracle Box if a new, permanent user is chosen then the Miraculous can adjust its appearance to that person.  This could be little things like Nino’s bracelet ending up with a smaller charm but slightly bigger band to better go with his other bracelets (and maybe some beads or winded yarn in his signature blue and red) to bigger changes like Kim’s circlet might become something like an arm band since he’d in no way get away with wearing the circlet unless he took to like…wearing a hat or beanie or something.  A lot of us think Juleka will probably end up with the Tiger since it’s so similar to her mirror, but that thing is kind of monstrous and definitely conspicuous.  It would likely need to change to more match her current mirror.  The Horse sunglasses could just adjust into a replica of Max’s glasses.  Marc could probably get away with the Fox staying a pendant, but I kind of like a choker for him better.  I don’t know if Ivan could pull off a nosering, so the Ox might need to change too. If that double thumb ring with the chain link between is the Rooster, I don’t know if Nathaniel could pull that off, so I picture something more like maybe a bracer cuff kind of deal with maybe a stylized feather motif or a stone that looks like the sun.  It could also be hidden by his sleeve most of the time.

Just…so. Much. Lost. Potential. It’s honestly kept me up some nights (though in part because it’s hard for my brain to turn off).

[lady-plantagenet]

What hasn’t already been said: The Spanish Princess 2

Episode 2: SOdden (or Sod ‘Em depending on your persuasion)

(Dont know how long I’ll be able to keep these puns up)

Catherine, like this woman, does not really fit into this era. But while this woman seems dropdead cool and at least looks the part, Catherine just...

To all those of you keen enough to have come back for another segment of ‘what hasn’t already been said: TSP’, as opposed to have just been scrolling when you see this - welcome back! (Scrollers you too <3)

To anyone who’s seeing this for the first time: what this is a list of observations, jokes, reactions and criticism which occur to me upon a rewatch. I wait every week until Saturday to do this so that I have had my fill of scrolling through the tag and aggregating what has already been said. I tried doing a whole spoof (here where I gave up 10% in) but tbh a) I don’t know the history well enough b) it’s more time consuming than I thought and c) this series is just not as funny or as crazy as TWQ, so it’s untenable. Having said that: This is not a hatepost. I’m not hatewatching this series and nitpicking on purpose but expressing my honest views and trying to find the good in it as well as the bad.

Without further ado...

First Scenes:

The baby cloth lifting into the ceiling of the chapel had nice ‘myth of the demon countess of Anjou (ancestress of the Plantagenets)’ vibes. I am 100% that was unintentional. I get this impression by the cringiness of the baby’s screams (what’s up with those sound effects? It sounded like a zipper).

Henry gives me such softboi vibes? It’s pleasing to me because it’s making me attracted to him as a viewer, but no good in convincing me this is Henry VIII.

I think Catherine’s exposition about how she feels is pretty ok actually, it’s fitting that she would feel anger.

CHARLES’ FATHER IS NOT MAXIMILIAN, IT’S PHILIP (or rather it was). ~~ A quick wiki search guyz, a quick wiki search. Ughh

Again with the whole everyone acting like Catherine is Queen. Can they cut it out? Also while we’re at it, what was Catherine’s attendance in councils even like?

The music was nice

Post Child announcement phase:

Oof I hate to say it but I lowkey wanted de la Pole back in this mother. Mainly because it would mean more Margaret Pole and by this point I am scared her storyline will fade in prominence now that there’s no longer a Yorkist subplot (showhorned as it was, it was the crowning glory of last season tied with Arthur x Catherine).

More x Maggie Pole and all of it over Seneca and learning :’). I already know this will be the best part of the episode.

‘We certainly know stoicism in our family’ ~ I guess she’s referring to Reggie? Because our boi Clarence was no poster boy for stoicism. Though could she be making an ironic reference to her father~?

Edmund de la Pole Debacle:

Well this convo at least passed the bechdel test.

Maggie and Edmund’s interactions here are touching. I know this plotline was rushed but I think it was just right to bring us back here for 5 min as a mournful throwback to the bygone era to which Maggie Pope belongs to and now continues to do so alone. It is emotionless and you can just feel how the York cause was hanging on by a tired old threat by that point.

Maggie Pole is becoming matronly now and I like this transition.

What bothers me about a lot of fans of Margaret Pole is that what they don’t realise is that she wasn’t all like ‘I want nothing to do with my family I’ll stay low and obscure’. While far more cautious than the likes of her ancestors, she did engage in land disputes with Henry VIII and was an outspoken supporter of Catherine and Catholic. Having her be a woman woth dubious loyalties towards the Tudors is accurate.

Scotland with Meg and Jammes:

LMFAO it’s like they read my mind when I spoke of how much I laughed when Meg was like ‘Alexander Steward you pig!1!!’ last episode.

Nice reference to Aulde Alliance

I like James.

Henry and Catherine on the balcony:

Was she commander of the forces? Was Howard appointed that? Regent she was, ok.

Charlotte Hope’s new hairstyles really suit her!

‘Will you please stop cursing’ agahsjdk ahah

No offence to women (of which I am one) but this comparison between childbirth and war is just... wrong. I know Starz think they are being smart but childbirth is far less impressive than winning or surviving a battle - comparing the two diminishes the bravery of soldiers. YET ,having said that, childbirth is necessary for our society whereas war is almost always futile and by comparing them, it wrongly represents violence as something inherently as natural to us as birth and continuing of civilisation. overall not a smart, respectful or accurate parrallel to make.

Meg and prep for invasion + Catherine in her weird armour:

So Margaret dreams that her husband is dead and bloody in her bed. Ughh show you neeed to get more creative. But I did like the whole ‘dreams are how our ancestors talk to us’ line from Angus Douglas.

Re: Meg in her beret... Why is Meg dressed like me going to the London shops in October? Digging the aesthetic but not sure about the accuracy.

Rich of Catherine to bring up Edmund.

Why is Ursula Pole crying??? What is all this to her really?

Did Howard just call the guard... sonny?? Is this some WW2 crossover?

Catherine - James and the tent parlay:

Did Catherine just insult Meg’s intelligence??

Also lmao I’m going to miss James.

Re: Howard saying ‘I’m not going to get insulted by a man wearing a dress’ .. UMMM Starz, you do know that just thirty years ago men were prancing about in dresses and leggings (essentially). From around the middle of the 14th century to the beggining of 16th century (if not earlier), Englishmen were also essentially prancing about in ‘skirts’.

Am I getting a weird cooperation-partnership vibe between Meg and James?

The Battle:

Charlotte Hope looks so good with the helmet, she’d really suit an english hood! Such a shame they won’t give her one!

Ewwww he’s eating mud, why?

Just standard battle scene. They are all the same to me no matter which movie.

Aftermath:

Jesus, I find the whole Meg crying over James IV so heartfelt ‘you arrogant bastard’ for some reason just came out so full of emotion. Can someone please explain why the hell I ship them more than Henry x Catherine?? Like how ??

Awwww Linna is sooooo adorable ughhh. Also this whole Catherine going into armour among all the women crooning over the children gives this adorable sense of Catherine boyish and bloodying herself out to protect their peace, idk. All I have to say is that these series is less eager to pitt women against each other than the previous. I think that’s a step forwards.

Also, good to see Catherine being modest about her victory so Henry can save face. Finally starting to seem like the real Catherine.

‘Go on you dog’ arghh ahah he sounds like some public school rugby lad egging his mate on.

Re: Wolsey cock-blocker; the real Catherine would know it was uncatholic to have sex when you were pregnant. Also Catherine is not technically speaking in confinement if she’s wandering about.

It’s nice to see Catherine sticking up for Howard, she at least learned to respect him during the battle.

I foresee Oviedo having enough of this Christian stuff and wanting to return to the berber domains (I suppose Spain is out of the question)

Knighting Ceremony:

Apparently Margaret Pole herself was made Countess of Salisbury during this same ceremony... right? @houseofclarence

Also Maggie Pole being like: “being a rebel is in my blood, or so they tell me”... gahhh what’s with these shows and the Clarence erasure? Can’t they make one bloody reference to her dad or grandad Warwick? Ugh. Especially with lines like this. Actually? You know what? Ignore my previous comment about the stoic remark and it being an ironic reference to Clarence. I put such subtlety above this show’s writers.

Catherine has a habit of going to the coldest places possible to lose her children...

Haha @ Henry asking Bessie Blount (of all people) where Catherine is.

Conclusion:

6/10

What I’m happiest about is that Flodden got dealt with in one episode because warrior xena Catherine is not what interests me most about this show. Having said that, it was a true shame that James IV died because his were some of the best scenes. This whole show is starting to feel so historical fantasy-ish because the aesthetics are so confused. Granted it’s still pretty (not eyesore like Reign) but it doesn’t penetrate.

I am as always invested in the Poles (and More) but am also starting to get attached to Princess Mary whose actress exudes plenty of charm. This show remains confused with its feminist message because while it shows women being proactive there is so much emphasis on babies that what remains with the mind after watching is this womanish birthdrama, as opposed to a show about struggles which affect both genders.

You might tut at me and say I’m being ridiculous and that it is historically accurate to put so much emphasis on women’s babies and I say that’s swell. I would happily watch a show where that element is strong (most pre 1995 historical dramas are like that with traditionally feminine characters and I gulp them up like sustenance), but if a show promises feminism and women-men being partners I want it to deliver that properly. As I said in my previous post, why do we keep trying to make women engage in acts like war as if such an abhorrent act is the only way to take them seriously? I await the day where cunning, rationality and cool-headedness will be the traits portrayed as feminist ones.

There is nothing else to really comment on... the only potentially deeper message in this is the gender discourse. I am unsure about the accuracy so I can’t speak of the historical value of the interpretation. But what I will say is that though I remain excited for each new episode... I’m just not as invested as I was in TWQ (rewatch every year dont @ me) or TWP despite their many flaws. Some characters pull me in eg Maggie Pole (Carmichael is a bae), Thomas More etc but not the whole cast like TWQ. Anyway... would be interesting to see if anything happens with Lina and Oviedo tommorow as their storyline is conspicuously slow.

[bygosscarmine]

A PERILOUS ENGAGEMENT

Man from UNCLE - Wife or Knife AU

for @karis-the-fangirl  later rather than sooner, but here is the fruit of your Wife or Knife AU in my imagination!

It’s ended up being less about the source material and way more about the potential of a very rigid, very tall man being forced by a small pistol of a woman into a [fake?] relationship. It was incredibly fun to write, and rewrite. I hope it’s enjoyable to read!

1/12

The ball may have been the event of the season in the country town of Middleton, but it was hardly high society. This should have set Elias Carrick at ease. Considering that he wasn't really meant to be in Middleton, and his friend Napoleon was so determined he should go, the general effect was a more subtle form of disquiet.

Napoleon was not the actual inmate of Elba Island, but a friend from Oxford given the moniker for reasons best left unsaid in polite society: more properly George Solo. His reassurances were to the tune of, “If you’re ever to make vicar from curate, you’ll need connections. And to make connections you need polish. The first step to polish is to at least have attended a party once.” Not reassuring, and putting rather a lot of weight on a single performance.

Solo had been in the neighborhood of Middleton kicking his heels at his uncle’s home for several weeks. Finding that Carrick would pass through the country on his way to the parish in the North, he had invited him to stop for a short holiday. Carrick had surprised even himself by accepting. The amusements had been tame enough so far, but he could not shake the sense he might end up regretting this whim deeply. He had regretted every other caper the dashing but devious-minded Solo had drawn him into, back in the day.

He stood feeling rather like a lamp-post at the edge of a London bustle, stock-still and being bumped into as if practically invisible. There were silks and muslins fluttering about, and smart jackets darting between them, all turning eager faces towards each other with smiles in their eyes. The chandelier light filled the room with a slight haze of smoke, and the heat of so many people all crowded together made him feel a little out of sorts. He had attended a middle-aged woman to a seat, and had been quite happy to allow her to gossip away at him, but had been supplanted by a matron who thought she was rescuing him. Now he had to find some other way to be politely engaged in the party, and Solo was at his elbow to make sure he did.

"Solo! My boy," said a figure of rather aged splendor, approaching. "And your friend, delightful!"

Solo made his introductions between Carrick and the Squire--his uncle was helping the Squire in some matters of business, and the man had generously included them all in his invitation. The dubious nature of inviting the man of business's nephew and friend to a ball was probably just a highlight of the country life, but Carrick felt as though he shouldn't have accepted.

"You know, there just aren't enough handsome lads about in these parts to do the pretty, so it's a famous thing to have a few visitors! Now, come, I must carry you off to please the young ladies."

Understandably, he took Solo along first, and Carrick purposefully missed his look of beckoning, to remain shored up in the debris of the party's tides. The Squire bore back down on him pitilessly, however, and ushered him along to stand up with a young woman of reddish blonde hair and a delicate face. Since Carrick was well over six foot, and built on the lines of yeoman, she seemed to be in some terror of him.

He said gently, "I am not sure I will get all the steps right," since he knew that his preference for silence did not strike people as comforting. She glanced up at him nervously, but when he moved without too much clumsiness she seemed relieved, and even made some remarks to him as if taking pity.

Being a man of the cloth did seem to excite a certain tendency toward pity in women. At least he had found it so. She left his side at the end of the set without hesitation, but with a polite word of thanks, so she was not fleeing him, either.

He had hoped to disappear into the crowd again, but Solo bore down on him with a woman who he clearly had been dancing with himself, as they laughed together. She was dressed as a matron, but still young and lively, which suited Solo. In fact, she appeared to be a widow as well. Her dark eyes were gleaming as Solo said, "Elias Carrick, madame. Future vicar and current scrapegrace. Carrick, this is Mrs. Hettisham, the Squire's daughter."

"Pleased," said Carrick, bowing.

"Keep her safe from that clumsy fellow in the eyesore coat by taking the next dance, all right?"

"It would be my pleasure," said Carrick.

The woman was quite kind to Carrick, and far from nervous. He enjoyed the scant moments they had in each other's company in the country dance that was raucous and so disorderly that when he forgot his steps it was quite unnoticeable.

"Ah, it is so nice to dance again," said Mrs. Hettisham. "But I must retire or my mother's friends will think me quite lost in dissipation."

"Let me see you to a couch, ma'am," said Carrick. He hoped to settle her and then give her company, since it would mean not having to meet yet another stranger. However, the Squire was busier about the room than his slow gait would have led one to expect. He was at Carrick's elbow almost immediately, with another blushing young lady who had no partner.

As they entered their apartments at the inn after the evening, Carrick told his friend, "If you wished for me to go to this party to gain a little polish, I can't see how it could have answered the purpose. I spent the whole evening scaring little girls."

"Sometimes learning that you are the scariest thing in a room is just the thing to find the proper confidence. Mrs. Hettisham is a wonderful example. A woman who certainly knows her own worth well enough to command whatever situation she is in."

"She is lovely."

"You know, I don't think she is?" said Solo, musingly. "But it makes no difference."

-

Gabrielle Seymour was meant to be in mourning. In truth, she grieved, and was mourning the loss. She was impatient with the form of the thing, however, which seemed to force her to sit and think about how unhappy she was and how little she could do about it. She had "borrowed" some clothes from one of the maids to sneak down and at least listen to the music, but had been forced to take up a position in a corner just enough obscured from the ballroom to see the edges of the dance while also worrying someone would stumble onto her taking the wrong door for supper.

She was choosing her moment to sneak back away, and it was probably now. Her aunt was safely ensconced close to the door to the dining room where she could scrutinize her staff's missteps closely in setting refreshments, and her uncle was now holding court in the card room where his status as host would not prevent him from losing a great deal of petty cash to his guests.

Just then, her elder cousin Lady Hettisham darted over as if to smooth her skirts out of the crush. “Have you seen them?” this dab of a woman in a charming half-mourning of watered silk asked in an undertone.

“I can’t see a thing from here, as you well know, Maria,” Gabrielle retorted.

“Oh, do keep an eye out,” the young widow said, and escaped to not bring attention that way.

Gabrielle could not hazard a guess what it was Maria wished her to see, since what she found immensely entertaining ranged from a truly terrible clash of jewelry to signs of an incipient tendré between ill-matched young people.

Gabrielle was just timing her dart across the hall, risking being glimpsed from the door, toward the servant stair when she saw the stranger Maria had wanted her to notice. A fair man of some height was leading Mrs. Pratt to a seat at the wall. Gabrielle knew from her own experience of coming into this neighborhood several years before that Mrs. Pratt looked even at first sight like an obnoxious woman and proved to be so in a very short time of acquaintance, but he was leaning down to hear her over the music with an intent expression. He not only helped her to her seat but sat beside her as a sacrificial lamb to her conversation, without the slightest appearance of humoring someone he wished to avoid. For a moment, Gabrielle sat riveted by the grave, square face of the young man at her uncle's ball. Then she recollected that if she could see him so well, they also might see her, despite her drab dress. The odd pair had found the few chairs shoved beside this side of the fireplace, which she had relied on being unwanted as both hot and cramped. She fled as smoothly as possible from the area.

Maria was happily chattering as her maid undressed her when Gabrielle knocked and entered.

"Someone had a delightful time tonight," Gabrielle said, keeping her voice light.

"I had never thought a Middleton ball might see a rake who knows just how to entertain a young widow," said Maria with a chuckle. "It takes so very little to make me feel gratified this way!"

She cast a more piercing look at Gabrielle, however, and said, "You did not enjoy yourself, did you, coz?"

"My disguise made it quite impossible for me to do so," Gabrielle said drily. "I had to hide in a corner and wish in vain to be brought a cool drink. I saw that large, fair man with Mrs. Pratt, but you would be put to the test to convince me he was a rake.”

"Oh no! He danced by me with little Georgina, and looked as though he were trying to juggle eggs, he was so nervous and gentle. I believe he is destined for the church. Luckily, his friend is destined to be a man of business. I do not understand how they are friends."

Gabrielle asked for more details on the flirtation, so she might not have to discuss more about her own evening, and soon bid her cousin goodnight. She spent some time in her own bed thinking, however. It made more sense that her cousin had been pointing to two strangers, particularly one who had flirted with her. 

It stung more than it ought to that there were young visitors in the village that she would probably never meet. She didn’t want a London season, or even to be asked to dance at the ball--she just hated to be hidden from the world as if it were shameful that she had lost both her parents. As if she was too young to be trusted to behave in company like a mourner.

If they didn't treat her so much like a disobedient pup, she would have an easier time behaving.

-

Link to all posted chapters here.

[skeletonsloverockcandy]

Case #014278 “The Bird House”

Summary: "Statement of Rita Langston regarding what she referred to as the Bird House. Original statement given August 27, 2014. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins."

-in the style of a Season 1 script format episode, no spoilers except for some themes

Warnings: Blood, Canon-typical violence, paranoia, fear of being watched, grotesque monster, eye-trauma, peer pressure, taxidermy animals, canon-typical fear

Fandom: The Magnus Archives/TMA

Characters: Jonathan Sims (The Archivist), (Martin, Tim, and Sasha are only mentioned), Original Characters for the sake of the statement

Word Count: 5,302

Ao3 Link

[Click]

 Archivist: 

Statement of Rita Langston regarding what she referred to as the Bird House. Original statement given August 27, 2014. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. 

Statement begins.

Archivist [Cont.]:

I really don’t know why I’m here right now. I know what I did was stupid, but I don’t know why I’m telling you this. [Slight Pause] I guess...I guess because you’re the only people who will believe me. 

This is what you do, right? All the supernatural and spooky stuff? If I had met you before I would have chocked it up as a load of hogwash, but now…I’m not so sure.

See really I was just being a stupid teenager, a stupid kid really. I’ve never been very bright, not because I wasn’t smart. No, I aced all my classes. No, I was stupid because I did stupid things. Dangerous things. Things that will get you in trouble. 

I wasn’t a stranger to the odd bet and occasional peer pressure. Didn’t have much restraint if I’m being honest, didn’t care much. Just kept looking for something thrilling to do to keep from being bored. I should’ve stopped, but I didn’t. I guess this time I took it too far.[A break, as if considering] Well, not really. All I did was be somewhere I clearly wasn’t supposed to be, not that unusual for me. But I guess trespassing was going to have consequences one of these days.

[A deep breath in and out]Maybe I should give you some context. See, I mentioned I did a lot of stupid stuff, yeah? Well, a lot of that is due to my buddy, Nicole. [Slight breathy laugh] Nicole and I got into all sorts of trouble, mostly me though, since I was the one they bet to do most of the stupid things. Like the time they bet me to egg Mr. Benedict’s house because he was being a real arsehole to them after they flunked their last test. Or the time Nicole bet me to skinny dip in the Thames in the middle of the night because they said it’d be funny. Not sure how funny it was, but you get the idea. 

The point is that Nicole and I did this sort of stuff all the time, so it wasn’t that odd to me when they bet me to go into that house. 

See, there was this house that we noticed coming home from school one day. We had decided to change up our route home to pass by the market and pick up some snacks on the way to my house since Nicole was planning on staying over that night. Coming back from the market, my backpack full of the snacks we had bought with Nicole’s pocket money, we passed a house we had never seen before. I had lived in this area my whole life, and I had never seen this house before. Neither had Nicole, and we were both pretty confused, especially with how big it was.

It was large, and wooden, and dark brown, and looked sagged down with age, as if it had been there centuries but then recently restored. It had recently rained too, y’know, so the wood looked even darker and more sinister against the steely gray sky. 

And, though I don’t think I noticed it at the time, there were an unusual number of birds around the house. Y’know, crows perched on the shingles, ravens circling overhead, even the odd owl or two tucked into the corners of the high rafters on the porch. It was bloody creepy, I tell you. I think at first Nicole and I just assumed it had been newly constructed and we just hadn’t passed by the area in a while, but as we got closer, we got a better look at the detail on the thing, and it seemed down right Victorian. It had all the, I don’t know the word exactly, but all the fancy things that you could tell it had been built to look Victorian. I think it also had all these intricate carvings on the posts and the trim on the roof and porch that you could just tell. So my point is that we could tell it wasn’t new. And the whole thing was surrounded by this iron gate, real old fashioned thing and went up to about my mid section. Real brazen old thing, and I could tell it’d be so easy to jump over, that it was basically begging to be trespassed in.

If I’m being perfectly honest here, the thing was a little weird, but not enough to be too bothered by, not enough to just Waltz in. I was planning on excusing it to just not noticing it before due to the Mendela effect, or whatever it is that I’d heard about online, and going home, but apparently Nicole had other ideas. They told me that they would bet money it was haunted. I didn’t really believe in ghosts that much, but as old and grand as the house looked I wouldn’t have doubted them if they had walked in there and came out screaming that they had seen one. I’d said, yeah, I could buy that, but that we really had to get home if they were going to stay over. They asked me if I was scared, and I said no. Thinking back, I can’t remember if I was really scared or not, but knowing what I know now, I know I definitely should have been. 

They asked me to prove I wasn’t scared, and I asked how? I already knew what they were going to say, but I let them say it anyway. They said I could prove it by going into the house. I asked if now was really the best time, didn’t we have to go home? They proposed a compromise. We would go to my house so my parents wouldn’t worry, but then after dark, when everyone was asleep, we would sneak back here and I would go inside and Nicole would stand watch. I said this didn’t really seem like a fair deal to me, since Nicole was making all the rules, but Nicole said it was compromise enough to prove I wasn’t a coward. I didn’t know if I agreed with that, but I didn’t like being called a coward, and, like I said, I wasn’t shy to the forces of peer pressure. Besides, even I had to admit I was curious. Eventually I agreed and we put Nicole’s plan into motion.

Sneaking out wasn’t that hard since this was hardly the first time Nicole and I had done something like this, and to this day, I still don’t know if we were never caught because we were just that good, or if my parents simply didn’t care, but either way we left the house without issue. 

We made sure to bring torches and Nicole brought my bag with the snacks we had bought because they said they’d get bored and hungry if we were out there all night. We walked to where we last saw the house and I swear it looked even more ominous at night. With it being cloudy and all, it was real dark too, the only light other than our torches being from a street lamp a block away. Gave the house a weird looming feel to it. And...I know it seems weird, but it felt like the house was watching us. As we got nearer it just seemed real quiet and you could just barely see the outlines of all the birds perched on the house. It felt like they were watching us, and waiting for...something. At the time I didn’t know what. [Static, barely audible, slowly starts to buzz on the recorder]

Regardless, the closer Nicole and I got, the more nervous I became. I started to worry someone was looking at us through the windows of one of the other houses nearby, that they would somehow know what we were doing. I don’t know why thinking about that started to freak me out, I’d never been afraid of getting in trouble before. Not really. I’d done enough stupid stuff to almost forget to be afraid of getting caught, but for some reason with this house...I don’t know. What we were doing wasn’t even supposed to be that bad, just walk into a probably abandoned building, prove I wasn’t a coward, and walk out. Nicole seemed to be feeling some apprehension too, but I knew that we were both too stubborn to not go through with it. Not after they had bet me. We were both too competitive for that.

We got to the iron gate and Nicole gave me a bit of a look, as if to tell me to ‘get on with it’. I rolled my eyes at them, but jumped over the gate regardless. This is where things got really weird. 

[The static begins to grow slightly more audible, but still deftly in the background] 

I suddenly felt as if all the birds perched on the house were watching me. As if all their heads turned in unison to look at me. I couldn’t tell this for sure, like I said it was dark, but it just gave me this feeling. 

[Static fades away almost imperceptibly] I must have frozen up or something because I heard Nicole ask what the fuss was about? I said I didn’t know, something just felt...off. They taunted me and said I really was scared then, and for a moment my anger and pride overcame my apprehension. I shot them a glare then strode off towards the front of the house, ignoring the prickle on the back of my neck that made it feel like someone was looking at me. I reached the front door and Nicole asked what I was waiting for. I know it’s a bit childish, but I stuck my tongue out at them for that, then I gave a tug at the door. 

It was unlocked for some reason, though at the time I thought that made sense because it was likely abandoned, and I opened the door. I turned back one last time to look at Nicole’s face as I gave them a smug look and I went in.

As soon as I passed the threshold, a breeze rushed behind me and pulled the door closed. I think at this point it was starting to set in how much of a bad idea this was turning to be, but I had made my bed now, might as well lie in it.

[A deep, steadying breath] I turned on my torch and swallowed thickly as the dusty air sank down my throat. In the torch light it was just as creepy indoors as it was outdoors. Everything seemed to be made out of the same dark, old wood: the walls, the floor, the ceiling, it all began to blend together. The furniture seemed to be made of a dark red velvet and was covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. I thought back to Nicole’s earlier theory about the house being haunted, then I shook my head. Just because it was a spooky old house didn’t necessarily mean there were ghosts, it just meant it was creepy. I thought about turning around now that I’d gone in and going back to Nicole, since I’d technically done my end of the compromise. Then I thought of their face and their taunting and how they’d make fun of me for being in there less than five minutes, and I stubbornly resolved to stay in the house as long as possible, I’d show them I wasn’t a coward. 

My mind made up, I ventured further into the foyer then turned into the living room. I shown my torch around and saw what I would consider to be a ‘classic haunted house’ aesthetic. There were stuffed birds on pedestals and mounted on the wall and in ornate, decorative cages. Crows and ravens and owls and ducks and mocking birds seemed to be looking at me from almost every surface. There were portraits too, portraits that lined the mantel to the fireplace in the center of the room. Portraits of more birds, not in flight as you’d expect of a painting of a bird, no they were close ups and side views so the viewer got a real detailed view of their eyes. And that’s another thing, whoever had decorated this room had positioned all the stuffed birds and the portraits so it looked like they were watching whoever walked in from the foyer, looking at them straight on. 

[The static faintly begins to fade in again]

I was very unnerved by this, already feeling an uncomfortable ‘watched’ feeling, like someone knew I was in their house. But the house still looked like it hadn’t been lived in in years, so there couldn’t have been anyone there. As I stepped further into the living room, I half expected the birds to turn their heads to continue watching me, but they kept diligently looking at the same spot in the foyer, which I’ll admit, did relieve me somewhat. 

There were doors on either side of the walls to the left and right of the living room, and I thought as long as I was staying, I might as well explore. So I did. I pulled open one of the doors to the left and looked down to see a long hallway. I stepped forward and the old wood creaked under my sneakers, and I suddenly felt very sure I wasn’t alone. [Static volume increases ever so slightly] I’m not sure what did it since I had done a load of things that would have drawn someone’s attention since I had been there, had there been anyone, but in the very instant, I didn’t just feel it, I knew I was being watched. 

I didn’t know where and I didn’t know who, but there was someone in this house with me, and they knew I was there. That overwhelming realization sent me off on a quick pace down the hall because for some reason, I felt if I went back to the room with the birds, it would give away where I was. It...it’s silly but, I thought whoever knew I was there would be able to see me through the birds’ eyes, like they were security cameras or something. So I took off down the hallway, for some reason now so sure I was being watched, chased even, and now overtaken with this urge to hide, to run, to make sure I wasn’t being watched anymore, that no one was looking at me.

[Fear begins to lace into his voice] Doors lined the hallway, blurring past, my squeaky footsteps giving my location away to the presence I felt was drawing ever nearer, looking at me, judging me, tracking me, knowing me. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew something was following me. I didn’t like it. Feeling seen. Exposed even.

I opened one of the doors to my right and ducked inside, shutting off my torch and holding my breath.[A beat of silence] After a moment, the feeling passed, and I breathed out, [Audible exhale as he continues] feeling slightly more at ease now that there was a door between me and whatever was causing me to feel like I was being followed. I thought rationally again that there likely hadn’t been anyone in this house in a long time, so I was probably just overreacting. I hadn’t heard anybody else’s footsteps, I hadn’t heard any breathing, so no one was chasing me, I was alone. That’s what I told myself to help keep myself calm, otherwise I'd have nearly had a heart attack. [Static that had been faintly buzzing in the background fades again]

After another few minutes of heavy breathing, I finally turned my torch back on and looked around the room I had hid in. 

It looked to be a study of some sort. There were bookshelves and a desk with  a couple of what seemed to be thick old volumes of childrens’ stories strewn about its surface. There was also a small table with an ornately detailed tablecloth surrounded by chairs and also piled high with books of different sizes and shapes and colors, though they all looked incredibly old. I got closer to investigate them, the books I mean, because while they looked like ordinary books, something just seemed not-right about them. The children’s books on the desk were most visible as they had large illustrated covers that were the easiest to see from a distance. As I got closer though, I saw what unsettled me about them. 

Most of the covers depicted children laughing and playing, or otherwise some vaguely-cartoonish animal, all together each volume remaining unique in comparison to the others around it, except for one feature. The eyes. [The whine of the recorder can be heard along with a brief, but audible crackle]

The eyes on all of the figures were too large, and they looked like they had been pasted on from another drawing. Staring at them, it just filled me with this overwhelming sense of dread. It felt like as soon as I had made eye contact with them, this one novel with a girl in pigtails on the front in particular, that I was suddenly known. Like all my secrets, all my thoughts, all the things I would never tell a single soul, they were all found out. [Voice becomes slightly more hysterical, more fast, more afraid] That by looking at them, they now had all this information, my whole life, and it had been sucked up and written down for anyone to read. Anyone to know. It made my skin crawl. I couldn’t stand it, I had to look away,[Suddenly sounds exhausted] I thought...I thought it might help to ease the sudden pain and fear from realization of being known. And just when I broke eye contact, that’s when I heard it.

Faintly, just outside the door, I heard the smallest bit of breeze, and I knew, I knew it was the thing in the house again. I’m not sure how but I did. I quickly dived under the table with the tablecloth and turned off my torch again. There was a slight pause, but then I heard the tell-tale creak of a door opening, [in the background we can barely hear the faintest creak] and I knew that Something was inside. 

[Voice drops to that of a whisper] I stayed as still and quiet as I could, and I’m not sure how long it was, but it was enough for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I couldn’t tell what it was, but I had the feeling that something was in the middle of the room, just waiting for me. I was hoping and praying it didn’t know I was there, when I looked up. My eyes had adjusted, but it was still dark, even so, I could just barely make out the underside of the table and the tablecloth. I squinted to try and make it out and lifted up my hand to touch the table. [An inhale] My stomach sank. I had been right. Under the table, I thought I had seen dozens upon dozens of eyes carved into to underside of the table, and the intricate designs on the tablecloth that were too hard to see properly from afar were thousands of tiny embroidered eyes. And I was hit by an awful realization.

Whatever it was just outside the tablecloth, it saw me. It knew I was there. It had been watching me the whole time. And it knew I was under the table, it was just waiting for me to figure that out. 

As if on cue with my realization, I felt the thing in the room draw closer, and, agonizingly slowly, begin to lift the edge of the tablecloth. 

I felt panic begin to swell in my throat and I didn’t know whether to freeze or push myself back to the far end of the table to create as much distance between me and it as possible. I barely had time to make up my mind however, because a long, slender, black cone-shaped thing jolted beneath the cloth and grabbed my ankle.

At this, I thought, to hell with standing still, and I began thrashing and squirming and clinging onto the legs of the table as it began to drag me out. [In the background we hear the soft sound of a person being dragged along a wood floor, interlaced with a now growing static] Wasn’t enough though, and as I got pulled further and further out, I realized what had grabbed my leg was a giant black beak.

And that beak was connected to an enormous bird. It loomed over me, feathers pitch black except for a frill around its face that made it look as if it were wearing a pure white mask. And the mask accentuated the most striking feature about this living nightmare-bird, its eyes. Its eyes were stunning, an indescribable color, and very very large.

Sharp too. It felt like they pierced my very soul, as if I were being slowly torn apart and digested the longer I looked into them. I felt overwhelmingly like this bird was learning everything about me, pulling it out of me, like it was eating my thoughts, experiences and memories.[The crackle of the recorder becomes more audible and weaves its way into his voice]

I was overcome by fear. I didn’t know what to do. I think I would have just sat there in terror and let it pull out everything I had ever known if it weren’t for my torch. It must have bumped the ground just right, or maybe I squeezed it on in my immobilized panic, but it turned on right then. [Static abruptly cuts off]

Light flashed into the creature’s eyes and it blinked and recoiled at the sudden change. It wasn’t much, but it blinking seemed just enough to break me out of my stupor. I fell back, standing and leaning as far away from the thing as possible.

I stumbled into the desk and my hand brushed against something. Might’ve been a pen, might’ve been a letter opener, all I know is that it was long and sharp. My torch was dropped on the ground from when I retreated, but it still lit up the room. I went to look back at the creature and it seemed to have just enough time to recover because it let out an unnatural, guttural screech, and looked back at me with those God-awful eyes again.[Voice becomes more hysterical again, almost enraged] I couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand being looked at, couldn’t stand it being there and knowing it. It filled me with such fear and rage. Next thing I know the thing tries to leer closer, and I think this was the point where it was too much.

There was another guttural screech, but this time it was coming from my throat and it was burning it raw. I lunged for it with the thing in my hand. [Voice increasing in volume and emotion until it’s practically shouting] I just couldn’t stand it looking at me anymore. Couldn’t stand its Goddamned eyes looking at me anymore. I couldn’t stand it! Couldn't stand it! Couldn’t stand it! [A deep, steadying breath]

It’s kind of foggy what happened next. I’m not sure how many times I stabbed that thing before I dropped what I was holding, but it was certainly enough to blind it. [A sick sounding, terrible whine starts faintly in the background] God, it made such...awful noises, and the space where its eyes used to be oozed this terrible, thick blood. It was slumped down and seemed to be moaning with pain. I was horrified. I knew I had to get out of there.

I ran past it and through the hall, not looking back until I reached the door to the living room with all the birds. I slammed the door shut behind me and saw all the stuffed birds seemed to be recoiled on their perches in pain. Even the portraits seemed frozen in awful terror as their now hollow eyes dripped blood. 

I bolted into the foyer and out the front door, sprinting across the lawn and leaping over the iron gate. I didn’t stop until I heard someone shout and grab my arm. I spasmed again, trying to pull them off me, until I realized the person who caught me was talking to me and sounded familiar. It was Nicole.

They had to practically tackle me to get me to stop, and I think they were going to make some joke about me being scared when I saw the blood run out of their face as they realized I was covered in blood. Thick, dark, blood. 

They jumped away from me and asked me what happened. I don’t know what I answered, if I answered at all. I was in a right state.  And for some reason I still had the terrible feeling we were being watched. I looked around desperately, I’m sure I looked right paranoid to them. I’m pretty sure I was stammering to them about this and that but I don’t remember what. Eventually I just said I wanted to go home and they helped me back to my place. We washed the blood, or whatever it was that was oozing from that thing, off of me as quietly as we could in the bathroom, and we never told my parents. I still haven’t. 

I wasn’t able to talk about anything for the next few days. Nicole kept coming over and prompting me, but I don’t know if I was just in shock or some of that same fear of them knowing, them judging me, that kept me from talking. I think I eventually told them their initial ghost theory had been right, because I don’t know what else could’ve been inside that house. They looked...disturbed, though maybe also intrigued, I don’t know, I was only partially looking at them since I hadn’t been able to force myself to make eye contact with anyone since that night. 

They recommended I come here, said they had heard this place investigated all sorts of paranormal happenings, and it might help with getting what happened off my chest, since I still hadn’t told them the whole story. I said I wasn’t sure, but we all know how that conversation ended, given where I am now. I always gave in so easily to peer pressure.

The thing is though, this did help me get things off my chest. [Slightly panicked] But...I can’t help but equate it to that terrible feeling from before. Being here, I still have that terrible feeling of being watched. And after you handed me that pen and paper when I walked in, I started pouring my words out, easily, and I feel once again, that I’m being known. I. Do. Not. Like. It. 

You have my statement now, so quit looking at me. Quit it! Please, please I just want it to stop. Maybe then, I can finally have some peace. 

Statement Ends.

Archivist:

I’m not sure what to add to this statement. We were unable to locate the house that Ms. Rita Langston claims she encountered as the address she provided does not exist. I had sent Martin to investigate the general area described where Ms. Langston’s neighborhood is, and he reported back that there was no such house to be found, even after searching in circles for what he said was two hours, so it appears we have a dead end there. Though that doesn’t seem that unusual given the nature of how Ms. Langston claims it appeared. We were also unable to get a follow up interview with Ms. Langston as she stated she ‘wouldn’t be going to that hell-hole again’, in reference to the institute, when Sasha tracked her down. However, with some digging, Tim was able to locate Ms. Langston’s friend Nicole, whose full name we discovered was Nicole Frank, and ask for details regarding her case. 

Nicole confirmed that Rita and them had seen what looked to be an old abandoned house pop up in Rita’s neighborhood and that they had dared Rita to go inside. According to Nicole, Rita was in the house for about thirty minutes before running out at a full sprint. She did not respond to Nicole’s shouts and said they were forced to grapple her to get her to stop. They also confirmed that Rita had a thick, dark substance of some sort splattered on her arms and shirt and began babbling incoherently when they questioned her. What I find most disturbing about this apparent confirmation that prevents me from writing this off as some prank by a couple of juvenile delinquents is that Nicole provided a video that confirms what Nicole had witnessed at least. Apparently they were playing on their phone whilst waiting outside the house and heard a noise. Wanting to have footage to tease Rita with later at being scared, they pressed record just in time for Rita to run out of the house.

The video is a minute and twenty-four seconds long and shows a 14 to 16 year old woman, who Sasha confirmed to be Ms. Langston, running out of an old wooden house. The video continues as the camera starts to shake, as presumably the person holding it began chasing after her, until the camera is dropped suddenly at what Nicole claims to be the impact where they tackled her. The camera now is facing upwards towards the blacked sky and after that all we have is the audio before the camera moves a bit as Nicole picks up their phone and stops recording. I’ll play the audio for you now.

Audio Transcript:

[Heavy breathing and mumbling]

[The audio sounds distant and not close to the phone, as if it had been dropped nearby]

[A scared and almost incoherent female voice, presumably Rita Langston]

“Please, no, gotta get away, it..it’s blind, it’s blind. I think I killed it. Oh God, Oh God, stop, stop, no, get away...Stop it! Stop looking at me! Looking..looking at me…”

[Another voice, presumably Nicole Frank]

“Rita? Rita! What the hell happened in there? Snap out of it!”

[The muttering continues but becomes quieter and trails off]

[We hear fabric rustles and the sound of a small scrape on the tarmac, presumably as Nicole picks up their phone, and the audio abruptly ends]

Archivist:

While there certainly seems to be supporting evidence of this event occurring, there’s not much we could follow up on. The books in the house are what give this case most of its credence, though, as any of them could potentially be Leitners, [Slight pause] and if they are...well, it’s probably a good thing we can’t find that house then. If I’d found a study full of Jurgan Leitner’s books, I’d have half a mind to burn down that house myself. I have far too much experience with Leitners to know how dangerous they can be.

If some person or creature encountered a particularly dangerous Leitner, it is not outside of the realm of possibility to consider they might have transformed into the creature Ms. Langston described. And if they did...well...I pity the monster on the receiving end.

[Click]

[gstqaobc]

CBC NEWS The Royal Fascinator Feb. 7, 2020 Hello, royal watchers and all those intrigued by what’s going on inside the House of Windsor. This is your biweekly dose of royal news and analysis. Reading this online? Sign up here to get this delivered to your inbox. Janet Davison Janet Davison Royal Expert

Who will step up for Meghan and Harry?

(Lefteris Pitarakis/The Associated Press)

It was a striking image that day in June of 2012 — just six people on the balcony of Buckingham Palace, sending a signal widely interpreted to foreshadow a slimmed-down future for the House of Windsor.

It was the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee marking her 60 years as monarch, and joining her on the balcony were her eldest son and heir, Prince Charles; his wife, Camilla; Charles’s two sons, Princes William and Harry; and William’s wife, Kate. (The Queen’s husband, Prince Philip, was in hospital at the time and it would be four years before Harry met his wife, Meghan.)

Charles has long been thought to favour a core group of senior family members to carry the House of Windsor forward in the next reign.

But Harry and Meghan’s departure from the upper echelons of the family leaves a big hole in that plan.

"I think [Charles] envisaged having Harry as part of that,” Ingrid Seward, editor-in-chief of Majesty magazine, said via email.

Seward said that along with William and Kate, Charles saw his sister, Princess Anne, and his brother, Prince Edward, as part of the plan.

Harry’s departure “really blows a hole into Charles’s well-thought-out plan for a slimmed-down monarchy based on the core family,” royal biographer Sally Bedell Smith

told Vanity Fair

.

Even though Harry is now down to sixth in the line of succession, he would still have been expected to carry out more senior duties for several years because numbers three, four and five in the succession (William and Kate’s young children, George, Charlotte and Louis) are up to two decades away from being active royals.

“So Charles and William have been counting on Harry to be, in effect, third in line to the throne and that’s all out the window, too,” said Bedell Smith.

Harry and Meghan have been staying out of sight for the past couple of weeks and are thought to be on Vancouver Island, where they were over Christmas before making their seismic departure announcement.

In the meantime in the U.K., it’s been royal business as usual for everyone from the Queen on down. Elizabeth was out and about twice this week —

and reminisced about her father and his corgis

— as her regular winter stay at her Sandringham estate, north of London, draws to a close.

Charles and Camilla were at a reception for the British Asian Trust and other engagements. William, who has a new role as Lord High Commissioner to the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, and Kate were at the British version of the Oscars and did a day trip to Wales.

Observers have been trying to figure out whether there’s any evidence of Harry and Meghan’s departure affecting what other senior members of the family are doing.

But in many ways, that seems to be a stretch — at least for now.

“As official engagements are usually fixed some months in advance and Harry and Meghan’s official departure is not until the spring, I don’t think we have yet seen much direct evidence,” Seward said.

“The crux will come on family occasions and none are scheduled in the immediate future. The future of Harry’s military appointments is obviously under consideration and will be announced as soon as it is decided.”

Still, it all leaves many open questions about how other members of the family may step up their roles. One person seen by many as likely to gain more prominence is Edward’s wife, Sophie, the Countess of Wessex.

“I think Sophie will take on a lot more royal duties and patronages,” said Seward.

And then there are Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie, daughters of Prince Andrew, who has stepped down from public duties in the wake of fallout from his friendship with convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein and a disastrous BBC interview related to that.

“I am not sure about Beatrice and Eugenie,” Seward said. “Before all this happened, I know Andrew was keen for them both to have royal roles, but Charles was not.”

Another spring wedding

One thing that is sure for Beatrice — she has a confirmed wedding date and venue. Buckingham Palace said this morning she and fiancé Edoardo Mapelli Mozzi will marry May 29 at the Chapel Royal at St. James’s Palace in central London. The Queen will host a reception just up the road, in the gardens behind Buckingham Palace. After a flurry of royal weddings in Windsor over the past couple of years, this promises to be a lower-profile, smaller and more intimate affair — perhaps not surprising given the controversy surrounding Beatrice’s father, Andrew. St. James’s Palace does, however, have a rich royal history. Other weddings that have taken place there include that of Queen Victoria in 1840. It’s also been the scene of several christenings, including Beatrice herself in December 1988, and more recently Prince George in 2013 and Prince Louis in 2018. Andrew and the FBI — what's going on? Prince Andrew was the focus of more attention recently after the U.S. attorney for the Southern District of New York told a news conference held outside Epstein’s former mansion that Andrew had given “zero co-operation” to the inquiry into the convicted sex offender.Immediately after that, sources close to Andrew were reported as saying he was angry and “bewildered” by the claims he had been unco-operative, and that he hadn’t received any request to speak to the FBI.A lawyer for a victim of Epstein also urged Andrew to co-operate with the FBI.Seward said until an approach is made by the FBI through official channels, “nothing will happen.”“This doesn’t lessen the potential wrong, but he can’t answer anything until his lawyers are contacted, and then they don’t have to answer straight away,” Seward said. “I think he will help the investigation, but has probably been advised to wait until such time as all the necessary evidence as to where he was and what he was doing has been gathered.”Andrew has said he did not see or suspect any sex crimes during the time he spent with Epstein. He has also denied any inappropriate relations with a woman who has said she was forced to have sex with him three times between 1999 and 2002. Andrew has said he has no recollection of meeting her..

Royal angst — beyond the House of WindsorOther royal families have also seen their share of controversy and high-profile headlines in the last little while.The public prosecutor in Luxembourg has launched a probe after reports of physical violence toward staff who work for the tiny European country’s royal family.It was only the latest headline there, coming about a week after Grand Duke Henri issued a statement to defend his wife, Grand Duchess Maria Teresa, against allegations of a “hostile working environment” at the palace.“Why attack a woman? A woman who speaks up for other women? A woman who is not even being given the right to defend herself?” Henri said in his statement.Next door, in Belgium, former King Albert II admitted he fathered a child during an extramarital affair half a century ago.The acknowledgement came after a court-ordered DNA test found that the 85-year-old, who abdicated in 2013, is Delphine Boël’s biological father.Boël had been engaged in a longstanding court fight to prove that she is his biological daughter.

Royally quotable

"Yet in 2020, and not for the first time in the last few years, we find ourselves talking again about the need to do more to ensure diversity in the sector and in the awards process – [a lack of diversity] simply cannot be right in this day and age."

—  Prince William

speaks during the British Academy Film Awards

.

Fans of the Netflix drama The Crown will have to content themselves with just five seasons, rather than the six everyone had been expecting. Creator Peter Morgan had said he’d planned on six seasons of the show focusing on Queen Elizabeth’s reign, but the other day he nixed that idea and said five seems like the “perfect time and place to stop.” The way the series is going, that should take viewers up to around the year 2000. Given some of the higher-profile royal controversies of late, perhaps it’s understandable why Morgan is content to stop at that point. “I think there’s concerns the closer you get to the present day, in terms of how much dramatic licence can you ethically take about events that are unfolding,” said Toronto-based royal historian and author Carolyn Harris. “And also, the show would become more controversial if it was speaking about events that are in many ways still unfolding at this time, and imagining conversations behind palace doors.” Season 5 will see another actor take on the role of Elizabeth. Imelda Staunton, who’d long been rumoured for the part, will follow Claire Foy (seasons 1 and 2) and Olivia Colman (seasons 3 and 4).

Royal reads

1. A century before Harry and Meghan, an Italian noble family

sought refuge in B.C. — and stayed

. [CBC]

2. The RCMP and U.K. security officials are

discussing how best to protect Harry and Meghan

while they are in Canada, and who will ultimately pay for their security. [CBC]

3. Harry

lost a press complaint

he filed against a newspaper over a story it published about photos of African wildlife he has posted on Instagram. [BBC]

4. To mark the 200th anniversary of King George III’s death, his

massive collection of military maps

has been made available online, offering insight into global conflicts from the 16th to 18th centuries. Also going back in time,

a vest worn by Charles I at his execution

is going on display.  [The Guardian, BBC]  

Cheers!

I’m always happy to hear from you. Send your ideas, comments, feedback and notes to

royalfascinator@cbc.ca

. Problems with the newsletter? Please let me know about any typos, errors or glitches.

GOOD MORNING ALL, I THOUGHT I WOULD SHARE THE MOST RECENT NEWSLETTER. I HAVENT HAD A CHANCE TO READ IT YET BECAUSE I WANTED TO GETBIT OUT TO THOSE WHO DONT HAVE IT OR KNOW ABOUT IT. GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦🇬🇧🇦🇺🇳🇿  💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻PG🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜

[these-eyebrows-are-not-even]

Packing light

For a long time all over my instagram feed are fun infographics and reels as well as; news articles and tweets about the environmental impact of the fashion industry. They show how that slightly expensive jumper you bought because it was made of recycled materials, actually only 2% of it was recycled. I collect vogues and my family has a subscription. I watch fashion YouTube channels and spent a long time this summer trying to earnestly re create Jaquemus pieces. Whilst the majority of my wardrobe is second hand, vintage or from depot and bay, I like most people am I sucker for a sale rack and on grey rainy days often find myself wondering in to Zara and leaving with something that made me smile.

A real test for my love of fashion and clothing came earlier this year at the end of August. I travelled to Paris for my best friends birthday. I was excited for a city break and four days of art and croissants. I arrived late on the 13th and was due to leave lunchtime of the 17th.

For the 3 days of humid Parisian weather (as forecasted) I packed:

One grey bodysuit

One pink camisole

One linen shirt

Two White t-shirt's

Two striped shirts - one lavender and one pale olive green

One denim skirt

One linen skirt

One pair of denim shorts

One white dress

One Pyjama pants (to be worn as trousers)

I also had a trench coat, face masks, pyjamas and enough underwear for 4 days.

I met my friend at the station and by the time we were back at her flat with a glass of water in hand, I had received a news alert. It said any British citizen returning from France after the 15th would have to quarantine for two weeks.

So either I cut my trip short and buy another ticket or quarantine.

Except, I couldn't really do that, I had a flight booked from London Stansted to Eindhoven so I could head back to Maastricht .This flight was booked a week after the 17th, the 24th. So, there wasn't time to quarantine.

I decided to stay in Paris with my friend until she left for Maastricht, and we'd get back by train together. This meant my wardrobe for 4 days now had to last me exponentially.

At that point in, both the Parisian and Maastricht weather was forecast as being hot; late 20's early 30's. This was the weather I had packed for! I was a packing genius ! What can go wrong, you hear me cry! well...

the weather changed, I know we don't have the most accurate forecasting systems yet and we haven't quite yet evolved as a society to live in a sims 4 world where seasons come as an expensive add on pack.  All of a sudden a pair of jeans and a thin jumper was needed but all I had was cotton and linen...

I quickly had to do some fashion algorithms to work out if the blue stipe on my pyjama pant worked with my lilac striped or pale olive green striped shirts. Too be honest the results were entirely dependant on how cold I was. For two weeks, I did washing very regularly and every day was a new game of outfit repeater. During a long and intense zoom call with my mum I went through every single piece of clothing I wanted sent over to me.

Just over two weeks after the 13th, when my karmic fashion challenge had started, I received a suitcase with all my clothes, makeup, laptop etc.

This weighed 32 kilos and had nearly everything I owned and loved in it.

I was overjoyed. And whilst unpacking all my beloved items I realised that over these past 2 weeks I had learnt several things which never seem to be mentioned on all these Instagram posts and articles:

Don't feel ashamed for losing clothing and having a lot of it.

Do feel ashamed for keeping something with the tags still on or buying something which after one wash has faded and the shape altered.

Wear all the clothes you have, show them love and appreciation, don't ignore them at the back of your wardrobe.

Packing jeans or some form of thick/weighty trouser are a necessity

So is a jumper of some kind, I will accept a cardigan

A long coat like a trench is perfect for keeping legs and arms warm

Always pack spare underwear

If you're not good at packing light, and you're a heavy packer just retort "at least I'm well prepared" and try and offset the carbon from an extra piece of luggage in the hold somehow.

I wouldn't do it again but I haven't bought any more or any new clothes since, I have been very tempted though...

Lastly, from now on I aim to only buy from second hand/ vintage shops or actual sustainable stores and not greenwashing commercial ones! Might be a little later for a new years resolution but with the climate in such a mess, it's better to start sooner than later.

[irisbleufic]

Happy 2020! Can I tag you to do that 2019 Fic Year in Review thing?

Happy New Year to you, too!  Sure thing.  I can’t remember the last time I did one of these; since 2019 is the end of a decade, it feels fitting.  Here goes…

14 February 2019: After spending 14 of my 15 years (2020 marks the start of my 16th year) in Good Omens fandom working on it, I finally finished and posted the 75th and final installment of Crown of Thorns [The Walls, the Wainscot, and the Mouse] ’Verse.  LiveJournal was still the fandom’s primary posting hub when I posted the first-ever installment, A Better Place, on 1 October 2005.  The series didn’t get its second installment (The Walls, the Wainscot, and the Mouse) until 2010, but work on the series from that point forward was pretty much constant.  2012 saw a higher number of CoT updates than any year previous; that was also the year I transferred it to AO3.

25 February 2019: I finished and posted the last chapter of my third Good Omens collaborative fic ’verse with @procrastinatingbookworm, Turn In Your Arms.  We couldn’t believe there was no Good Omens fusion with Tam Lin, so we went for it.  Given our first collaboration in 2018 was a Good Omens fusion with Groundhog Day (Game Over, Insert Coin), that wasn’t a stretch.

27 February 2019: @aspiringjedi and I posted the first of our two Good Omens meta-essays, Making An Effort: Queer (Trans) Masculinity in the Ethereal & Occult Beings of Good Omens.  Yes, it’s 1,990 words due to the novel’s publication year.  When you’re just under 2,000 words anyway, why not?

28 February 2019: @procrastinatingbookworm and I followed up Turn In Your Arms with a brief sequel, Burn After Reading.  All of our collaborations to date have ended up as multi-story mini ’verses.

25 March - 20 April 2019: I went about as livid over Gotham’s Season 5 as I did over Season 3 and wrote Darkroom to address how dirty the show did Bruce and Jeremiah.  I had a stand-alone Season 4 fix-it story (focusing on Oswald and Edward, like most of my other Gotham work) called Triage from 2018 that had never quite felt like it was meant to be a stand-alone.  Triage and Darkroom became the first two installments of a series called Playing for Keeps, to which I added another 6 stories by April 20th.  Darkroom somehow got more traffic than any of my other Gotham pieces since When You Find It, Run over in DDO ’Verse (although those two stories are keystone pieces in much larger series, they can both be read as stand-alones).

4 April 2019: In the midst of working on the aforementioned, @aspiringjedi posted our second Good Omens meta-essay, Southern Pansies: Subversive (Trans) Masculinity in the Ethereal & Occult Beings of Good Omens.

8 May 2019: Brief blip back into Pacific Rim fic!  I posted a missing Anthology correspondence/inset ficlet called L’amour, c’est comme la guerre.  For anyone who ever wanted more of the email correspondence in Anthology’s final chapter, this fills in some gaps you didn’t know were there.

16 May 2019: Thanks to some behind-the-scenes persuasion from several really tenacious Gotham readers who didn’t want me to abandon it / shut down DDO ’Verse, I completed The Knights’ Tour after almost a year on hiatus from it.  This turned out to light a fresh fuse on DDO, because TTK didn’t end up being the final story in the series like I had once planned.

18 May 2019: The only His Dark Materials fic I’ve ever written, also a Gotham fusion, got a belated new final chapter.  Gold Dust is sort of an alternate take on DDO ’Verse, one in which Dust and daemons are present.

23 May 2019: I posted what I thought would be a stand-alone Gotham story called The Meaning of This City.  It manages to be a marginally less dark and complicated take on the Bruce-and-Jeremiah situation (than Darkroom over in PfK ’Verse, that is) without sacrificing some of the most difficult features of what they need to overcome.  More on why this didn’t remain a stand-alone in a bit.

6 June 2019: Good Omens requests came around, one of which led me to follow the Imagine Hastur Ficlets (which themselves exist thanks to the accidental prompts at @imaginehastur) interlude in CoT with The Imagine Hastur Epilogue.  This was a sort of neat in-narrative way to deal with having gradually come out about my biological (inter)sex and (nonbinary) gender identity over the 14 years I worked on CoT. 

15 June - 1 July 2019: I posted another Good Omens collaboration-set with @procrastinatingbookworm called Have Faith at the series-title level.  The two stories in it, You Bloody Snake and Enough of a Bastard, focus almost entirely on Hastur and Ligur.  Seeing Aziraphale and Crowley through different (and less favorable) eyes was a weird pleasure; seeing people indignantly realize they were enjoying fic about Hastur and Ligur was even more of one!

15 August 2019: @verumx persuaded me to watch Jamie Marks Is Dead with her and @one-eyed-bossman, and then implored me to fix it.  Using Our Words is the stand-alone that resulted, which is no shock given I can’t resist ghost stories.  It’s unique among this year’s stories in that it may be the only genuine stand-alone aside from the Gotham piece called Gold Dust.

17 August 2019: After an experimental in-character snail mail letter-writing exchange that lasted about 6 weeks, @verumx and I transcribed the letters and framed them in a piece of collaborative Gotham fic, We Were All Forgiven.  Since about late April, I had been getting progressively sicker and sicker (didn’t know yet that I had cancer).  Keeping busy as things got worse helped at least in the psychological sense, but by mid-August my exhaustion and difficulty eating were hitting their peak.  I was hiding it from everyone except my partner.

1 September 2019: Returning to two stories I’d written for Batman: Europa, I created a series umbrella called Once Is Not Enough and explicitly placed London (Letting Go) and Five Love Affairs under it as companion pieces.  Between Thursday Friday of this particular week, I experienced an increasingly more frightening set of symptoms that landed me in the ER and got a sequence of diagnostic tests finally rolling.

22 October 2019: After receiving a diagnosis of colon cancer on 10/1/19 and starting medical leave Monday of Halloween Week, I decided to complete the sequel to The Meaning of This City, which was a Gotham piece I’d left hanging mid-progress for weeks.  The Maze of Your Ingenuity was hard for me to complete due to constant blood tests, CT scans, and outpatient procedures in the lead-up to my Thanksgiving Week major inpatient surgery, but I did it.

23 September - 11 December 2019: My longest Gotham fic ’verse (Delicate, Dangerous, Obsessed, a.k.a. DDO), having refused to die even once The Knights’ Tour was complete, got an entirely new ending stretch of stories focusing on, of all people, Jerome Valeska and Five (514A).  They were the only two characters from canon who I had mentioned and/or shown briefly in passing earlier in DDO, but whose arcs from canon (and onward into my fic) I had done nothing to wrap up.  Challengers, Thicker Than Blood, Take This Waltz (It’s Yours Now), Finally Fair (In Love and War), and What We’re For (And What We Want) may, collectively, be the best writing I did during the entirety of 2019 (unless you count what I wrote in February to finish CoT).  The experience of terrifying, unexplained illness and harrowing treatment was entirely too timely to one of my two protagonists in this set of stories.  They were worth their weight not just in distraction, but also in catharsis.  Five survived, and so did I.

[themackenzies]

Thoughts on Outlander 5.05 - ‘Perpetual Adoration’

Time is a lot of the things people say that God is. There’s the always preexisting, and having no end. There’s the notion of being all powerful���because nothing can stand against time, can it? Not mountains, not armies. And time is, of course, all-healing. Give anything enough time, and everything is taken care of: all pain encompassed, all hardship erased, all loss subsumed. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Remember, man, that thou art dust; and unto dust thou shalt return. And if Time is anything akin to God, I suppose that Memory must be the Devil. — Prologue, A Breath of Snow and Ashes

Wow, I loved this episode, and for the first time this season I’m excited to sit down and write about Outlander.  The 1960′s flashbacks, Roger and Bree hashing things out, adorable Adso (I am a dog person, but geez that’s a cute kitten)...this episode felt nostalgic, and good, and right.  Material from the books was adapted really well and didn’t feel shoehorned in.  To be honest, after last week’s ‘The Company We Keep’, I was considering abandoning the show because I was so disappointed by the writing and characterization of Roger.  But, after Episode 5?  I’m excited to see the rest of the season!

There’s a lot to unpack from this episode, so I won’t touch on everything, or this will get too long, but here are my thoughts.

Since the title card for this episode is taken from the flashbacks, I’ll start my episode review by talking about Claire, Joe, and Bree in the 1960′s.  Claire’s voice over of the prologue from A Breath of Snow and Ashes gave me goosebumps, as did Bree’s line, “Man, I guess you never really know what’s coming, do you?”

It’s so great seeing Joe again, even though it makes me sad that we never got to see Roger or adult Bree interact with him on the show.  I smiled at the reference to the romance novel The Impetuous Pirate from Voyager.

The lounge wasn’t empty. Joseph Abernathy sat in one of the rump-sprung stuffed chairs, apparently absorbed in a copy of U.S. News & World Report. He looked up as I entered, and nodded briefly to me before returning to his reading. The lounge was equipped with stacks of magazines— salvaged from the waiting rooms— and a number of tattered paperbacks, abandoned by departing patients. Seeking distraction, I thumbed past a six-month-old copy of Studies in Gastroenterology, a ragged copy of Time magazine, and a neat stack of Watchtower tracts. Finally picking up one of the books, I sat down with it. It had no cover, but the title page read The Impetuous Pirate. “A sensuous, compelling love story, boundless as the Spanish Main!” said the line beneath the title. The Spanish Main, eh? If escape was what I wanted, I couldn’t do much better, I thought, and opened the book at random. — Chapter 18, Voyager

The 60′s costumes, sets, and hair were on point.  Man, I really miss the 60′s-70′s stuff (and wish there had been more of Roger and Bree in that time in Season 4 - flashes back and forth like they did with Claire and Jamie in Season 3 would have been awesome).  I also liked how the flashbacks connected with the 1700′s story lines.  It wasn’t until I rewatched that I even really listened to and absorbed Claire’s voice over throughout the episode about God and the spiderweb:

“I wonder, is time God’s eternal web, silk strands stretching through time, the mildest touch setting off vibrations that echo through the eons? ... Is God the spider, embracing us through our death and resurrection, or is he simply the spinner of the web, watching as the silk shimmers and vibrates through the cosmos, awakening the real spiders, the ones lurking deep within the recesses of our own natures? ... God the infinite, God the merciful, God the eternal.  Someday, I will stand before God and I will receive answers to all my questions about everything in his universe, and I do have many questions.  But I won’t ask about the nature of time. I’ve lived it.”

There was something about the spiderweb metaphor that sounded really familiar, but I couldn’t recall if it was taken from any of the books or not.  So, I did a search for “spiderweb” in The Fiery Cross, and found a couple of passages that I’m still mulling over.  There’s this bit from Chapter 37:

“Brianna. What do you want? Do you want Stephen Bonnet dead?” She glanced at me, then away, looking out the window while she patted Jemmy’s back. She didn’t blink. Finally, her eyes closed briefly, then opened to meet mine. “I can’t,” she said, low-voiced. “I’m afraid if I ever let that thought in my mind … I’d never be able to think about anything else, I’d want it so much. And I will be damned if I’ll let … him … ruin my life that way.” Jemmy gave a resounding belch, and spit up a little milk. Bree had an old linen towel across her shoulder, and deftly wiped his chin with it. Calmer now, he had lost his look of vexed incomprehension, and was concentrating intently on something over his mother’s shoulder. Following the direction of his clear blue gaze, I saw the shadow of a spiderweb, high up in the corner of the window. A gust of wind shook the window frame, and a tiny spot moved in the center of the web, very slightly. “Yeah,” Brianna said, very softly. “I do want him dead. But I want Da and Roger alive, more.”

And also this bit from Chapter 73:

She had begun to realize, listening to the talk in the Sherstons’ parlor over the last few weeks, that the Colony was a vast spiderweb. There were innumerable strands of commerce along which a few large spiders—and a number of smaller ones—made their delicate way, always listening for the faint hum of distress made by a fly that had blundered in, always testing for a thinning strand, a broken link. The smaller entities glided warily along the margins of the web, with an eye out always for the movements of the bigger ones—for spiders were cannibals—and so, she thought, were ambitious men. Her father’s position was prominent—but by no means so secure as to resist the undermining effects of gossip and suspicion. She and Roger had talked about it before, privately, speculating; the fracture-lines were already there, plain enough to someone who knew what was coming; the strains and tensions that would deepen into sudden chasm—one deep enough to sunder the colonies from England. Let the strain grow too great, too quickly, let the strands between Fraser’s Ridge and the rest of the Colony fray too far … and they might snap, wrapping sticky ends in a thick cocoon round her family and leaving them suspended by a thread—alone, and prey to those who would suck their blood.  

Back on Fraser’s Ridge...

That pillow talk scene between Roger and Bree is the best romantic chemistry I’ve seen between them this season (yes, even better than their wedding).  Sophie and Richard acted their scenes, most of which were adapted from Chapter 6 of The Fiery Cross, extremely well.

She was an only child, as he was; she knew the yearning for connection and closeness—but hers had been gratified. She had had not one loving father but two. A mother who had loved her beyond the bounds of space and time. The Murrays of Lallybroch, that unexpected gift of family. And most of all, her son, her flesh, her blood, a small and trusting weight that anchored her firmly to the universe. But Roger was an orphan, alone in the world for such a long time. His parents gone before he knew them, his old uncle dead—he had no one to claim him, no one to love him for the sake only of his flesh and bone—no one save her. Little wonder if he hungered for the certainty she held in her arms when she nursed her child.

My one complaint is that I wish Bree hadn’t stayed silent after Roger asked, about Jemmy’s paternity, "In your heart, what do you truly believe?”  That discussion was very heartbreaking.

Thankfully, Roger returns to Bree in the morning, apologetic, after his heart to heart with Claire.  

“Oh I wish I had a bit of a husband’s intuition.”  “You haven’t been married very long. Intuition comes with listening and time.”  “I have time in spades.” [...] “Roger, don’t be careless with the time you have together.”

Perhaps Roger is remembering what he told Jocasta in Episode 1: “I may not have any property or money, but I have time.  And I will give it all to Brianna and Jeremiah.”  

Everything comes full circle at the end of the episode when Jamie returns home, and Claire shares what’s on her mind:

“Do you know what I finally realized after all these years? Just how much I owe him. His death had a profound effect on me, so much so that I took a leave of absence from work, and went to London with Brianna, and that was where I learned of Reverend Wakefield’s passing.  Had we not attended that funeral, we would never have crossed paths with Roger or...or found you.”  

A few final, stray thoughts:

I know the priest’s line, “No one’s lost who’s not forgotten” is about Claire remembering Jamie...but, Stephen Bonnet haunting Brianna is what popped into my mind.  Brianna has forgiven Bonnet, but hasn’t forgotten him.

Lizzie being present during Kezzie’s surgery and blushing/smiling when he had to drop his britches was funny and cute.  They’re clearly laying groundwork for Season 6 (or maybe Season 5?).

I love the sunshine and verdant trees in this episode.  It was pretty and refreshing.

Even though I loved Roger in this episode, I haven’t forgotten how poorly he was written in the first 4 episodes and in ‘The Company We Keep’ in particular.  I’ll leave that rant for another post, though.

I’m still puzzled by Roger and (maybe?) Bree wanting to back through the stones.  On thelitforum.com, Diana said something about the writers, in the first episode, establishing that Bree promised Roger they would go back.  But, if Bree made a promise like that, we haven’t heard about it on screen.  I don’t understand why that would be cut, because it’s important context to have.

I don’t really have anything to say about Jamie in this episode.  I’m bored by the Regulator story line, and am anxious for us to get to Alamance, so all of that can finally be put to bed.  

Based on the preview for Episode 6...it looks like Jamie and Claire will be going to Jocasta’s wedding by themselves, while Roger and Bree stay on the Ridge.  Interesting.

Roger’s scruff was perfect.  Crossing my fingers he stops shaving for the remainder of the season.

“Women will do anything for trinkets, coins, jewels. Anything at all.  They’re yours for a pretty penny, or a diamond, or a ring.”  “My lass is more concerned with words and deeds.”  Bonnet makes me want to vomit, but I loved Roger’s response about pragmatic Bree.

I love how naturally God and religion are being woven into this season.  It makes me wish the show runners had the guts to do it in earlier seasons.