#sorry non canon toe book. hes mine now.

[senseiwu]

Lar's 'birthday' (the day I thought of using him and bringing him into family au) is in February.... of course he's a summer child....

here take this this was the first cute picture of lar i found

[joannalannister]

Anonymous asked:

Hey there, Lauren! I love your blog and metas! I have a question for you, in terms of the book, could you tell me when and where Daenerys shows signs of being a tyrant or a fascist? I see lots of metas say that she is, but from what I've read, I don't see any signs of that? Sure, she kills her enemies, but what powerful monarch doesn't? I just feel like the fandom has a very biased and double standard hatred when it comes to her, and I would like your opinion! Thank you!

Before I answer your question, we need some sort of working definition of fascism. To achieve this, I would like to quote a disabled person who helped lead the fight against fascism for years, and who died in the line of duty:

Over a year and a half ago I said this [...]: "The militarists in Berlin, and Rome and Tokyo started this war, but the massed angered forces of common humanity will finish it."

Today that prophecy is in the process of being fulfilled. The massed, angered forces of common humanity are on the march. They are going forward [...] 

We will have no truck with Fascism in any way, in any shape or manner. We will permit no vestige of Fascism to remain. [...]

In every country conquered by the Nazis and the Fascists, or the Japanese militarists, the people have been reduced to the status of slaves or chattels.

It is our determination to restore these conquered peoples to the dignity of human beings, masters of their own fate, entitled to freedom of speech, freedom of religion, freedom from want, and freedom from fear.

We have started to make good on that promise. I am sorry if I step on the toes of those Americans who, playing party politics at home, call that kind of foreign policy “crazy altruism” and “starry-eyed dreaming.”

--President Franklin D. Roosevelt, July 28th, 1943 Fireside Chat

What did the fascist Nazi Party stand for in WWII?

Historically, there was no Nazi Party apart from their racial and social agenda. It was a party founded on racial distinctions, with a vision to dramatically transform their society. The Nazis disliked and persecuted anyone who they did not consider Aryan. They persecuted and killed Jewish people, homosexuals, Jehovah’s Witnesses, and communists, and they wanted to eliminate people with mental or physical ailments. The Nazis pushed women out of the workplace and actively promoted patriarchy. [x]

But where does GRRM come into this?

I wasn’t a complete pacifist; I couldn’t claim to be that. I was what they called an objector to a particular war. I would have been glad to fight in World War II. But Vietnam was the only war on the menu. [x]

GRRM’s ethical views are at their clearest and most concise while discussing slavery and dehumanization in his (most excellent and highly recommended) vampire novel, Fevre Dream:

I never held much with slavery […]. You can’t just go… usin’ another kind of people, like they wasn’t people at all. Know what I mean? Got to end, sooner or later. Better if it ends peaceful, but it’s got to end even if it has to be with fire and blood, you see? Maybe that’s what them abolitionists been sayin’ all along. You try to be reasonable, that’s only right, but if it don’t work, you got to be ready. Some things is just wrong. They got to be ended.

Some things are worth fighting for. Fascism requires opposition, some form of opposition, or it will steamroller all over you. 

My regret now is not that I stayed my arm, but that I remained aloof in my window while others protested peacefully outside. It would be naïve to think that those marching in neo-Nazi parades could have a change of heart from such efforts, but I am more concerned with those who are not marching for anything. We must convince the apathetic to care, and stop those who are walking down the path of hatred before it becomes too late.

--David Olin, The View from My Window, Berkeley 2018, written for the Elie Wiesel Foundation for Humanity 

Now, let me apply this to ASOIAF piece by piece. 

In every country conquered [...] the people have been reduced to the status of slaves or chattels.

This is Tywin. This is Tywin enslaving people as part of his militaristic campaign of aggressive force in the Riverlands. This is Tywin sanctioning the capture and torture of innocent people. This is Tywin “using” other kinds of people and disregarding the fact that they are human beings. This is Tywin enslaving Arya Stark. This is Tywin impressing people to work in his gold mines on a whim, as we learn in AGOT. This is Tywin reducing people to the status of slaves or chattels. This is Tywin. 

I don’t know how many different ways I can say it, but as I’ve said before and will say again: Tywin is the character in the ASOIAF books who most prominently espouses fascist ideology. 

There are other characters in the main series -- Roose Bolton and Randyll Tarly, for example -- who also exhibit characteristics of fascist ideology, but I would argue that it is Tywin who is the fascist poster boy of ASOIAF ... and it is also Tywin who is one of the main villains who is drawing humanity’s attention south away from the true threat of the Others, who wish to turn every living thing into their slaves and playthings. (Littlefinger also comes to mind.) Tywin is an unwitting general in the Others’ army. Tywin is fighting the Others’ Campaign of Dehumanization on their behalf. 

The Nazis disliked and persecuted anyone who they did not consider Aryan. 

Substitute “Aryan” for “Lannister” and this is Tywin. “a Lannister, and worth more.” It is Tywin who pushes an agenda of Lannister superiority and it is Tywin to whom non-Lannisters aren’t human, to the point that he had to marry his own cousin. He dislikes non-Lannisters so much he had to marry his own cousin!!!! It’s Tywin who passed down his obsession with blood purity to his children to the point that they literally have to fuck each other. It’s Tywin who puts his House (a proxy for his race) above the individuals in it; it’s Tywin who doesn’t care if Cersei and Jaime and Tyrion are ground to dust under his disgusting ideology as long as House Lannister reigns supreme. 

"Spice soldiers and cheese lords," his lord father called them, with contempt. 

This is Tywin. 

Non-Lannisters aren’t fully human to Tywin. This is fascist ideology!!!!

It was a party founded on racial distinctions

This is Tywin and Kevan, refusing to allow the Westerlings to marry into their family because of “doubtful blood”!!!!! (”Ser Kevan seldom had a thought that Lord Tywin had not had first.”) 

It was a party founded on racial distinctions

This is Tywin and his refusal to allow a betrothal between Jaime and Elia. 

they wanted to eliminate people with mental or physical ailments. 

This is Tywin and his hatred toward disabled Tyrion. This is Tywin and his refusal to allow a betrothal between Jaime and disabled Elia. 

The Nazis pushed women out of the workplace and actively promoted patriarchy.

This is Tywin. This is Randyll hating on Brienne of Tarth. (And you can bet your ass Tywin doesn’t approve of women with swords.) 

I don’t know how many ways I can say it: Tywin and others like him are the fascists. 

Tywin is one of the cold fucks the AGOT prologue warns us about in the very beginning: “the real enemy is the cold.” 

The central conflict of ASOIAF is between the living (the fire) and the dead (the cold), those who would recognize your humanity and those who won’t. 

It is our determination to restore these conquered peoples to the dignity of human beings, masters of their own fate

^^ This is Daenerys Targaryen ^^

Daenerys Targaryen is a freedom fighter who kills slavers in the books. 

Her breakup of the economic system of Essos (meaning SLAVERY) is more akin to a communist revolution than a fascist takeover imo. Daenerys associates herself with people of all races, all classes. She gives Missandei, who canonically has dark skin in the books, a place as one of her closest advisors. Unlike Tywin, Daenerys is not pushing an agenda of Targaryen superiority. 

Daenerys is not perfect. She does not always get it right. Daenerys has got some things wrong. But I don’t think there has been any other option for Daenerys. You ... you can’t just look the other way when evil men are crucifying children, and I truly do not think that non-violent opposition would change anything in Essos. “Better if it ends peaceful, but it’s got to end even if it has to be with fire and blood, you see?” 

Sometimes innocents like Hazzea have died on Daenerys’s journey. 

And I fully believe that more people are going to die in TWOW, and that Daenerys will hold herself responsible, whether she is or not. I know that TWOW will give all the antis of every character a lot of ammunition. TWOW is going to be a dark and depressing book. 

I think that Daenerys is going to reach a very low point in TWOW, just as Tyrion is nose-diving in ADWD, but I think that’s just what GRRM does with his greatest heroes. It’s the moment in a movie when the hero falls off the cliff, and the Evil Villain starts cackling maniacally and you think all is lost, and then you see the hero’s hand reach up over the edge and the music crescendos as the hero pulls himself up. Except the real villains that GRRMs heroes are battling are themselves. The cliff is a metaphor for our darkest impulses. 

Characters tell Dany in AGOT that “she is nothing” but Dany’s story is about proving them wrong. It’s about her finding her own dignity and worth as a human being out on the Dothraki Sea, and becoming the master of her own fate. As her story progresses, she helps others to do the same, helping people to rediscover their dignity, to regain their names (or take new ones), to find the humanity that was stolen from them. 

(This is why it’s so important to me that her story intersect with zombie!Jon, so that she can help a dead man remember what it is to be human and remember why it all matters. Because if none of it matters ... if a man can’t find a fuck to give, well, that’s Tywin Lannister, who was a cold dead man long before Tyrion shot him.) 

I brought up FDR in the beginning of this post. Although FDR died before GRRM was born, he was one of the great American cultural figures of the 20th century and I have no doubt FDR’s legacy was a formative influence on GRRM. And that’s the thing - so many of these, these great American cultural figures of GRRM’s life died before their work was completed: FDR, JFK, MLK, so many others... The promised land is somewhere ahead of us, despite the opposition making accusations of “crazy altruism” and “starry-eyed dreaming.” No one is going to drive us there and drop us off; we have to get there by ourselves, and the journey isn’t an easy one. It’s a place we have to keep striving for, working for. A dream of spring...

It’s not Daenerys’s destiny, I think, to rule humanity in the long term; Dany’s destiny is, I think, to make sure that humanity doesn’t, well, lose their humanity. To make sure that humanity doesn’t fall into eldritch slavery.

The Others would make us automatons in their icy, inhuman regime. The Others would steam-roller all over humanity, and take away humanity’s freedom to choose, as Tywin Lannister tries to do to his children, trying to take all of their choices away and control them completely. The Others would take away our self-determination, our freedom to choose good or evil, our freedom to be the rulers of our own fate. 

I don’t think it’s Daenerys job to be a ruler in the end. I think she’s fighting evil now so that other people can keep fighting that good-and-evil “human heart in conflict with itself” fight long after she’s gone ... I’ve never believed in a “Targaryen restoration” ending although I wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to it. 

Like Moses, Daenerys won’t lead us into the promised land ... we have to get there ourselves. 

And I’ve strayed from your question into a topic that’s more interesting to me because I cannot fucking belieeeeeeve that you are even asking me if the compassionate, caring, teenage-girl, sexual-abuse-survivor, messiah-figure Daenerys Targaryen is a fucking fascist when everything Daenerys “the fire is mine” Targaryen does is in narrative opposition to Certified Fucking Fascist Tywin Racist Lannister oh my god I cannot believe this is where we’ve come to as a fandom, I cannot fucking belieeeeeeve. 

Anon. Honey. Baby. I say this gently, with love: Whyyyyyyyyy are you reading “Daenerys is a fascist” metas? That didn’t even work on the show. 

When I googled “Daenerys Targaryen fascist” to try and figure out what you could possibly be reading to argue against it, the top result is an alt-right thinkpiece website about how dangerous Dany was all along in freeing slaves!!!! And the next results are people who think the iron throne actually matters when GRRM himself has said that the political war is a red herring. 

The endgame rulers don’t even particularly matter because what matters in the end is that humanity wins against the Others and we still have control over ourselves, what matters is for that human heart conflict to continue to exist inside ourselves and that we rule over that conflict inside ourselves. 

"We all must choose," she proclaimed.

Practice some self-care; go read Armageddon Rag, and remember this: TWOW is not going to save us. 

[lil-scoot-toot]

There is Road Left in Both of Our Shoes - Chapter 1

Hey yall this is just something I started working on because I was waiting for more keys so I could continue the game after Julian decides he wants to try to handle things on his own.  This is my first time playing The Arcana and I really didn’t know like where it was gonna go at all so I just kinda decided that I wanted to continue the story myself.  Once I did finally get to the next chapter or book or whatever I was like “hmm wow I don’t think MC is mad enough” so this is just part one of a mostly non canonical story that I’m going to be working on with my MC Persephone aka Percy for short.  Idk if anyone else will like it but I figured I would share.  Check it out under the cut if you are interested.  Sorry it’s pretty long.

My fingers curled, grasping at the edge of the counter as I decided weather or not to close up shop.  Business was slow this evening and I couldn’t get him off my mind no matter how hard I tried to shake him.  Weeks had passed since I watched Doctor Devorak walk away from the front steps of the shop after our night by the docks.  My cheeks tingled from the memory of where he’d planted his goodbye kisses, but soon burnt red hot from embarrassment.  How could I let myself get so caught up, so enchanted by him?  I wasn’t some lovesick teenager! So why did it hurt so much to even think about him?  Julian… I shook my head, the knot in my stomach pulling tighter as I thought about his hands on the back of my neck, my fingers entangled in his messy red hair, the smell of Mazelinka’s soup wafting through the warm air around us. Kisses by the water, the salty ocean air, the warmth of his body, his breath, the sad look on his face when we finally pulled away from each other while crashing waves filled the silence between us.  Images of the days and nights we spent together flashed in my mind, causing a lump to form in my throat.  Weeks had passed since then and then a month, two months…  Would he ever return? Was he safe? Had he met someone else?

           What’s it gonna take a damn mind erasing spell?  Get it together Persephone! I wished I could wash myself clean of him, but he was under my skin, some essence of him had made its way into my bloodstream causing a longing unlike any I’d felt before… The years I’d spent pining for Asra were nothing compared to this ache.  At least Asra and I are friends, despite the secrets he continues to keep from me, at least he would never rip me apart at the seams like this.  

           “Dammit!”  The word slipped past my lips in a hiss as I pounded my fist on the counter.  Lucky Asra was off on another quest as I couldn’t stand the looks of pity he’d been throwing my way recently when he thought I wasn’t looking.  I could already hear him crack some lame joke about not breaking the counter too.  “Dammit, dammit, dammit!” I continued to slam my fist into the solid wood until I couldn’t stand the pain. As I looked at my knuckles, bruised and a little bloodied, a tinge of shame crept through me.  That’s it.  It was definitely time to close up shop for the day.  Of course, just as I decided on locking up, the bell on the door chimed alerting me to an entering customer.  I looked up from my throbbing hand and my stomach sank.

“Long time no see.”  He bore that stupid smirk as he closed and locked the door behind him in one swift motion.  Tears began to well in my eyes, obscuring my vision but I blinked them away, trying to make sense of the man standing before me.  He ran his gloved fingers through his scarlet locks and rubbed the back of his head seemingly searching for words as I stared him down.

           “Get out.”  The words left my lips before I even had a chance to think.  “Jul-just, just get out, Dr. Devorak.”  I sputtered, trying my best to erase any intimacy that may have existed between us.

           “I’m sorry,” He put his hands up as if to show submission, “…Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

           “You’re damn right! Especially after all the trouble Portia went through to get you out of the city.”  My emotions began to boil over, there was no masking the contempt in my words.  They dripped with the venom I’d been storing up within myself for the past two months. I didn’t care what he wanted or what he had to say.  Looking at him made me ache and recoil from wanting and disdain all at once.  

           “I’m sorry, Percy… Please let me explain.”  My nickname felt like a sharp dagger in my heart when it left his lips.  He took a few steps towards the counter, long strides bringing him close enough for his scent to carry through the air.  His overcoat was missing and his white shirt, hardly buttoned, bellowed open showing his pale chest.  

           “Please.”  The word a soft whisper as I began to lose my resolve. Please what? Please leave? Please stay? Please explain yourself?  Tears once again threatened to escape but I bit my lip, trying to keep my composure. The distinct taste of iron washed over my tongue; I bit down much harder than I realized.

           “Dear… You’ve hurt yourself.”  He made his way around the counter, towering over me to inspect my lip.  Placing a finger on my chin he tilted my head up and bent down, his face mere inches from mine.  A fire erupted in me as his tongue lapped hungrily at the blood still seeping from my bottom lip and for a few moments I gave in, standing on my tip toes to grasp at the nape of his neck and pull him in closer, pressing my lips to his, allowing his tongue entrance, savoring his familiar taste.  Our bodies moved together to an unheard rhythm, as if we had spent no time apart at all.  As if he never left.  That’s right.  I let my hand slide down to his chest and pushed him away before wiping blood and spit off my mouth with the back of my hand.

           “As if you care.” My heart raced in my chest, pounding in my ears, my knees threatened to give out at any moment.

           “You look faint, have you been eating?”  He eyed my body under my dark, flowing clothes which hung more loosely than usual around my petite frame.        

           “Stop it, Julian.” I took a step back but had to brace myself on a nearby stool.  When Asra was around I put on a show, pretending I was getting better, but with him in and out of the shop so often the past couple weeks I couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to my health.  Most days I would choke down some light broth if I was hungry enough and most nights I’d pass out from exhaustion after tossing and turning in my bed worrying about the man now standing before me.

           “Stop what?”  His eyes peered into mine as if he might find the answers there and worry lined his face.

           “Just stop.  I can’t.  I can’t do this.”   A sudden rush of heat came over me as the room started to spin.  Unable to find my footing I fell back with too much force for the stool to support. I braced myself for impact but Julian, swift as ever, caught me before I could hit the ground.  

           “You haven’t been taking care of yourself at all have you?” He picked me up bridal style with little effort.  

           “Stop pretending to care.”  I didn’t have it in me to struggle as he carried me up the stairs to my room. “Just take whatever you came for and leave.”  He set me down gently on the bed, a long sigh escaping him as he furrowed his brow.

           “Is that what you think of me?  I can’t say I blame you.”  He placed the back of his slender hand gently on my forehead and then my cheeks and then my forehead one more time.  His hands were cold as always and offered some relief to the heat radiating throughout my body.  Despite my anger, his touch caused butterflies to flutter in my empty stomach before it let out a small grumble.  “You’re burning up.  You should get out of those clothes.   I’ll make you something to eat.”  I wanted to respond, wanted to yell at him, wanted to pound on his chest and demand answers but it felt as if a fog was rolling over me, so I simply complied to the best of my abilities as he quickly marched down the stairs.  It was only now that I realized how badly my hands were shaking, as I struggled to untie the intricate knots which held my outfit together, the buttons on my pants were another story and I gave up, my top half off with my light undershirt exposed.  I was never one for fancy bras or corsets, it’s not like I needed them, my breasts were small enough to be concealed by undershirts and often even without one.

           Another wave of dizziness washed over me as I let one leg hang off the bed, trying to touch the ground. Why is this bed so damn high up?  My toes barely reached, and the position did nothing to help me.  Time passed and I couldn’t hear anything over the sound of my heart pounding in my chest, I wondered if Julian was even really there. Perhaps I was imagining it.  My hand went to my lips as I recalled the kiss we shared, the warmth of his body.  No there’s no way I was imagining, the forces that be would not be so cruel to me. I tried again to fiddle with the buttons on my undershirt, feeling as if someone was sitting on my chest preventing me from catching my breath.  Panicked, I began to lose control of my breathing as a few of the buttons finally came undone leaving me rather exposed.  My concern was with my breathing though as it only grew more and more difficult to get any air at all.  I must have been wheezing quite loudly because suddenly Julian was at my side concern showing on his pale face.  I hadn’t even noticed him come up the stairs.

           “What’s happening? What’s wrong?”  He was panicked which was not helping me.  I felt like a fish out of water gasping for air and my heart, christ it felt like it was about to explode but I couldn’t articulate this to Julian in my current state instead I grabbed his hand and placed it on my exposed chest so he could feel my accelerated heartbeat.  A panic attack… Of course, I couldn’t believe it took either of us so long to realize what was happening.  It wasn’t my first, but it was definitely the worst one I’d experienced in recent memory, amplified by fatigue and the shock of seeing Julian, though I did not want to admit the latter.  

           “Ah I see.”  He seemed to regain his composure though a deep blush crossed his cheeks and made its way down his chest as he inspected me further.  “I’m sorry.” For some reason his continued apologies only served to tick me off, but I knew I needed his help, so I swallowed my pride.  He let his palm linger on my chest a moment longer before he joined me on the bed, sitting me up so that he could lean on the headrest behind me.  I curled up between his legs, my head resting on his chest. He ran his fingers through my short dark hair and took deep even breaths.  I tried to focus on the rhythm of his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest, his fingers gently combing through my hair.

           “You’re okay,” He whispered in my ear, giving me goosebumps, “just breathe with me, don’t force it.  Listen to my voice, breathe in, hold it, breathe out.”  He continued to instruct me, cradling me in his arms.  His voice was a gentle hum I’d never heard from him before.  At last my heart rate returned to a normal, steady pace and I felt the sweet relief of air entering my lungs.  Though certainly not a full breath it was enough for me to begin to calm down.  In through the nose, out through the mouth. I repeated this simple mantra over and over.  Each breath I took deeper than the last until my breathing returned to normal. Finally, the fog began to lift a bit and I thanked the forces for every bit of oxygen that passed through my lungs. As soon as I realized I was okay I scrambled to get out of Julian’s embrace, choosing to sit on the foot of the bed and face him.  His gaze darted around the room as if he was desperate not to make eye contact, though I did catch him eyeing my chest a few times.

           “Do you have panic attacks often?” Finally, he met my gaze, his cheeks tinged a deep pink as he realized I’d caught him staring.

           “What are you doing here?”  I ignored his question feeling mine was more important anyway.

           “Well… As it turns out,” His hand went to the back of his head again his discomfort showing plainly on his face, “Why don’t we discuss this over some food huh?  Are you able to get up?”  Leave it to Julian to change the subject.

           “Answer me, Doctor.”

           “Percy, please…”

           “Answer me!”

           He stared down at his hands at some point he’d removed his gloves.  With a finger he traced the mark that branded him a killer.  My head was swirling with so many questions and even more anger but behind it all was relief, at least he was okay for now. The room began to spin again, and I brought my hand to my head, hoping to calm it.

           “Look, I made us some food so let’s just go downstairs and discuss things.”  I could tell by the look on his face that he was not going to relent so I gave in instead muttering a “fine” and stepping off the bed. “Ahem, but you may want to um… Cover up if you want me to be able to focus on matters at hand.”  Too tired to even feel embarrassed I buttoned up my undershirt and we made our way down the stairs.  My legs felt like jello and I clung to the bannister, refusing any more help from Julian despite his continued attempts at steadying me.  A spread of cheese and cured meats (which I bought at the market to prepare for Asra’s impending return) sat in the middle of the table, a few slices of bread placed neatly on two plates opposite of each other.  Did he really consider this “making” something?  I had to suppress the urge to tease him about it.  Julian pulled my chair out for me, insisting on helping me to my seat.  Admittedly after that ordeal I was ravenous, and I ate quickly, ready to get the answers to my questions.

           “So,” I took another bite of bread before continuing, “What are you doing here, Julian?”  My words were cold as ice and he grimaced at my harsh tone.

           “I thought I could figure out what happened on my own,” He started, again avoiding my gaze as he spoke, “…But I can’t.”  I couldn’t help but scoff at his answer.

           “So now that you need something from me you think you can just come prancing back here?  Do you think I’m stupid?”  A full stomach gave me the energy to show my true anger and I was not planning on holding back.  “You think you can just say “I’m no good” “I’ll only hurt you” “I have no future” and disappear like that after… After we grew so close and then expect me to welcome you with open arms because you need help now?  As if I wasn’t willing to help you months ago?” This time I didn’t fight back my tears.  “Well you’re right,” I continued, “You’re an asshole Julian!” I jumped to my feet and slammed my hands down onto the table causing it to shake but he barely seemed to react.

           “Please just hear me out…” He struggled to find the words to say but this time he looked straight into my eyes, unwavering.  “I fucked up, you’re right but I didn’t only come back because I need help.  In fact, I’m not even sure you’ll be able to help me, actually, it’s just that I-.”

           “Then why are you here?” I cut him off.  “Why are you in my shop, in my home stirring up trouble for me again?  Imagine if someone saw you here! If Nadia found out that you’re back in Vesuvia! What if you were caught? You’re such an idiot!  A selfish idiot!” My words spilled from me as swiftly as my tears, but the doctor simply stood up calmly, closing the space between us to wipe the tears away.

           “You’re right, I am. I…I shouldn’t have come back.  I’m sorry. I’ll be going now.  Perhaps in another life…”  He trailed off and made his way to the door.  I could feel my heart breaking all over again, I wanted to tell him to stay but I couldn’t bare to look at him a second longer.

           “Fine.  Run away Julian.  It seems to be the only thing you’re good at.”  I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth, but it was too late to take them back.  Turning to look at me for a moment, pain etched into his pallid face Julian opened his mouth to speak but seemed to change his mind, disappearing into the night much like he had two months prior.

[unfolded73]

Since you're taking prompts, maybe a future fic when little Swan-Jones somehow learns a thing or two about dad's past and Killian has to figure out a way to explain it in a way his kid will understand. (I know this is probably random, but it seems like something you would write really well based on other stories of yours I've read.)

My first thought was, I’ve already written this! (A Sad, Sad Place Without You) But I very quickly realized that there are more angles to tell this kind of story from, and no shortage of things for Maureen to find out about. Plus, I was able to use a tiny orphaned snippet of a Charming/Maureen conversation that I didn’t know what to do with, which makes me happy. 

FYI, Maureen is my invented Swan-Jones daughter who predates the canon pregnancy, so some of the stories about her are consistent with S7 and some aren’t.  Rated G, ~2300 words.

David found Maureen on the swing he’d hung from a big, old tree on the property years ago. She’d kicked off her sneakers, and despite the chilly air was swinging back and forth barefoot, leaning back so that her hair dragged through the dirt, her fists clutching the weathered rope.

“I wondered where you’d gotten to,” he said, and at the sound of his voice, his ten-year-old granddaughter pulled herself upright, slowing with a drag of her heels against the ground. She was dirt from head to toe, as usual.

“I wanted to swing,” she said.

“Well,” he said, leaning against the tree, “I’m glad you’re getting some use out of it. Neal’s too old for it now.”

Maureen narrowed her eyes. “That’s stupid. There’s no reason to grow out of swinging.”

“You make a compelling point.” He crossed his arms. “In any case, your parents will be here to pick you up soon, so you should probably come back up to the house and get cleaned up.”

Rolling her eyes, she pushed back with her legs and started swinging again.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“It must be something, Mo.” He flinched. “Sorry, Maureen.” She’d announced at her tenth birthday party the previous month that she didn’t like her nickname anymore, and wouldn’t answer to it or to any of the other pet names Killian had for her.

She scowled, stopping her momentum again with her bare feet. “My dad killed people, you know.”

David took a startled step back at that non-sequitur. “What are you talking about?” he asked cautiously, not knowing exactly what she knew.

“I used to think being a pirate meant sailing around where you wanted, maybe stealing gold from people who didn’t deserve so much gold.” She screwed up her face, and David could tell she was near tears. “But he was a villain. He hurt people.”

Still uncertain if this was a conclusion she’d drawn about pirates in general or if she’d gleaned specific information about her father, David spoke carefully. “Your father only became a pirate because an evil king caused the death of his brother--”

“I know that story,” she interrupted. “Doesn’t mean he didn’t do really bad stuff though.”

David walked over and knelt on the ground in front of Maureen, gripping the ropes of the swing in his hands. “I know, sweetheart, but your father has been a good man for a very long time. A hero. A man I’m proud is part of my family.”

“Heroes aren’t supposed to kill people.”

A sudden image of his own wife after she’d killed Cora, more distraught than he’d ever seen her, flashed in David’s mind. Heroes aren’t supposed to kill people.

“Did something happen, Maureen? What’s got you thinking about this all of a sudden?”

She scuffed her feet in the dirt, kicking some of it onto David’s blue jeans. “I heard them talking.”

“Who?”

“Mom and Dad. I heard him say he killed his father.”

And mine, David thought traitorously. He’d forgiven Killian long ago for that, but it still struck him at odd times, that his closest buddy, his daughter’s true love, the father of this wonderful girl in front of him was responsible for such a life-altering crime from so long ago.

“I heard him tell Mom that he’d dreamed again of the night he killed his father. They didn’t know I was listening. And I just started to think about pirates, and I realized he probably killed other people too. I don’t know why I never thought of that before.”

“Because he’s your dad,” David said. “Killian’s father was not a good man. He abandoned his own children when Killian was no older than you are now. I know it’s hard to understand--”

Maureen didn’t seem to even hear him and was working herself up into hysterics. “He lived for a really long time as a pirate, he told me. Two hundred years. How can he make up for being a villain by being a hero now? There isn’t enough time!”

David reached out and stroked her cheek, catching one of her tears on his thumb. “It doesn’t work that way. Your dad doesn’t have to balance out the years when he was a villain with the same number of years as a hero before his slate is clean. What matters is that he’s a good man now, and because of that, we forgive him for things that happened in his past. It’s an act of generosity to forgive someone who’s worked to be a better person. An act of grace.”

Brow furrowed, Maureen tried to puzzle that out. “When did you forgive him?”

David thought about that, uncertain how to answer. It had been a gradual thing that happened in stages, with a few rough patches between where they’d started and where they were now, but that wasn’t what Maureen wanted to hear. “Have you ever heard the story of Queen Elsa?”

She nodded.

“When Queen Elsa came to town, she was afraid that the people here had done something to hurt her sister Anna, and it made it difficult for her to control her powers.”

“Ice powers?” Maureen asked quickly, and he could see a spark of excitement in her eyes underneath the worry.

“Yes, ice powers. So for a little while, your mom was in danger, because she was trapped with Elsa, and it was very, very cold.” He took a deep breath. “I was with your dad, and he fought so hard to get her out of that ice. I think he would have chipped at the ice with his hook until he collapsed from exhaustion. That was when I realized how much he loved your mom, and I guess I forgave him then.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was true enough for the sake of what he was trying to communicate. It was certainly one of many times that he’d seen the man’s love for Emma shining out like a beacon in the dark of night.

“And once someone’s forgiven, the bad stuff they did doesn’t matter?” she asked, wiping at the tears on her face and hopelessly smearing her cheeks with more dirt.

“I wouldn’t say it doesn’t matter, but… you move on from it. Maybe you don’t forget. Just like your dad has never forgotten the things he’s done. But you turn the page, and you live on.” He thought about Rumple and Killian, Regina and Zelena. So many people in his life had been granted forgiveness for so much. Perhaps they didn’t deserve it, but in the end, what would it have benefited anyone to hold grudges? How would it have done anything but keep those people back from achieving the good they’d achieved?

Maureen hopped off of the swing, and he pulled her into a hug. “Just know that there are few people in this world that I trust more than your father to protect the people we love. And that’s been true for many years. Okay?”

She nodded against his chest, sniffling. “Okay.”

“All right, young miss, let’s get you inside and cleaned up.” Maureen picked up her shoes and ran toward the farmhouse while David followed after her at a more sedate pace.

~*~

“Okay, Dad. Thanks.”

Killian looked up from his book, seeing Emma in the doorway by their bed, slipping her phone back in her pocket. He sat in the wingback chair he’d positioned next to the large ocean-facing windows of their bedroom years ago. It had become his favorite place to sit of late to enjoy the salt-tinged breeze, even as the temperatures were dropping and it was becoming less pleasant to leave the windows open.

“Hey, is Mo still in the shower?” she asked.

“Aye,” he said, tilting his head toward their bathroom. Their daughter had recently switched from baths to showers, but annoyingly she insisted on using their bathroom instead of the one next to her room. That bathroom creeps me out, she said, although Killian could find absolutely nothing to justify such a statement.

“We’re going to need to talk to her. Dad said she overheard us talking about Brennan last night.” Emma refused to honor the man who’d fathered Killian with the title, choosing to refer to him by his name. She may have never known the man, but it didn’t stop her from despising him.

Killian’s heart plummeted. “Dammit.”

“That’s not all. I guess it got her thinking about pirates and villainy and murder and I don’t even know what all, but she was upset. Dad did his best to comfort her and it sounds like he did a bang-up job, but we’re going to need to talk to her.” She stepped up next to the chair and combed her fingers through his hair, her nails scraping pleasantly against his scalp.

“I knew this day would come eventually,” he sighed. “I just wish I knew what to say. There’s nothing to justify some of the things I did.”

Emma continued to stroke his hair. “Do you want me to be here, or should I let you talk to her by yourself?”

He looked up at her gratefully for thinking to ask. “I think I’d rather talk to her by myself unless you think that would do more damage.”

“Of course it won’t.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

His daughter appeared from the steam-filled bathroom a few minutes later, wearing baggy, plaid pajama pants and a plain t-shirt, her hair a wet and uncombed riot. She had a drawer full of pink and purple nightgowns and girly pajamas -- gifts from her Grandma Snow that she had never worn.

“Would you like me to comb your hair, love?” he asked gently, seeking any sign of her emotional state on her face. He expected Maureen to say no (these days she wanted to do everything herself), but she nodded.

Killian reached over and grabbed Emma’s brush off the dresser, beckoning his daughter closer with his hook. Without a word, she positioned herself with her back to him, and he sat forward in the chair and began to gently work the tangles out from the bottom, his hook pressed above where he was brushing to keep from pulling at Maureen’s scalp.

“I fear I’ve made an error with you, darling, telling you so many exciting stories about being a pirate and leaving out the less savory aspects of my former life,” he said, clearing his throat around the lump that was already forming. The last thing in the world that he wanted was for any of his past mistakes to cause his daughter pain. He’d die a thousand deaths to spare her that if he could.

Maureen’s shoulders tensed but she said nothing.

“I can’t lie to you; I was a villain, and I made many mistakes in service of seeking vengeance against someone who had wronged me.”

“Rumpelstiltskin,” she supplied. She didn’t know Rumple; he and Belle and Gideon had left Storybrooke to travel the realms before Maureen had been born. And of course, Maureen had asked Emma years ago why her father had only one hand. Emma had told as sanitized a version of the story as she could, just as he had once done the same when Maureen learned that he’d died. Too many terrible tales haunted their pasts, he thought.

“I hated my father. He abandoned me and Liam when we were boys, leaving us indentured to a ship--”

“What’s ‘indentured’?” she asked.

He sighed. “It’s almost like being a slave, but the difference is there is a chance to buy your way to freedom, although it’s very difficult.”

Maureen whirled around. “You were a slave?”

“Not exactly, darling, but near enough.” He coaxed her to turn around again so he could continue working on her hair. “I never forgave my father for that, although perhaps I should have. So when the chance arose and killing him would get me closer to my goal, I accepted a devil’s bargain and I orphaned your other uncle Liam.” He left Regina’s involvement out. He didn’t know when or if she might return to Storybrooke, but he didn’t want to bias his daughter against someone who was an integral part of the family. “He was a bad man, but it was a mistake and I regret it.” Most of the tangles gone, he ran the brush down the length of Maureen’s hair. “I regret many things that I’ve done, and I work every day to be a man worthy of this family. Worthy of being your father.”

“You are,” she said in a small, trembling voice. Setting the brush aside, he coaxed her onto his lap so that he could hold her. She didn’t fit the way she used to, all long limbs and angles, and he shuddered to imagine the woman she would start to bloom into in only a few short years. His days of holding her like this were numbered.

“I apologize that my past deeds have made you upset. And I apologize that I wasn’t more honest with you.” Her wet hair was cold against his cheek, and he turned and pressed his lips to her head.

“It’s okay, Dad.”

“I love you, Mo.”

“Maureen,” she corrected, but there was no heat in it, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

“Maureen,” he responded, hugging her back, his eyes squeezing shut against tears that threatened to spill over.

“I’m glad you’re a good man now.”

“Me too, love.”