#there were like five choices and apparently i was the first (aside from her wife) to pick this one???
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catalyswitch · 3 months ago
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Went to flamecon this past weekend and this was my favorite print that I got!!! I love an artist's alley but they ARE very very dangerous....
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alliluyevas · 2 years ago
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I mentioned earlier that a lot of Young family members are scattered around the Salt Lake City cemetery in a few different sections, so I thought I'd share the graves for some of the women I don't know as much about in a post together. Aside from Emily Partridge and Zina Huntington, who I'll make a separate post for in a bit, these are all the wives of Brigham Young I located in the SLC cemetery (ie, not buried with him in the family graveyard). I put the pictures of both the graves and the women in chronological order of when they married into the family, which also (roughly) tracks with their age.
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Augusta Adams Cobb (1802-1886) lived in Boston with her first husband and nine children before being converted to Mormonism by Brigham Young when he was a missionary in Massachusetts. She ended up leaving her first husband and her older children to move to Nauvoo with her two youngest and become Brigham's second plural wife. They were about the same age and she did not have children with him. The marriage proved rather fraught, as she wrote him numerous letters complaining with quite caustic language about him paying more attention to younger wives. They did stay married, although he eventually agreed to allow her to unseal from him and seal herself to Joseph Smith for eternity. Twenty-five years later, her son James's ex-wife Mary van Cott ended up becoming Brigham's second-to-last wife. When Augusta died, she was initially buried according to her wishes with Brigham, but her daughter Charlotte, who had left Mormonism as an adult, later had her exhumed and she is now buried with James, Charlotte, and Charlotte's husband. You'll note that Augusta's current gravestone does not mention Brigham Young at all--I'm assuming that was probably Charlotte's choice as well.
Harriet Cook (1824-1898) (identified on her grave as Harriett C.) was Brigham Young's third plural wife and the last woman he married before Joseph Smith's death. I don't know a lot about her except that virtually every reference I've found to her involves other women talking about her being difficult to get along with and irritable, though there's also references to her being brave and intelligent. Apparently, she told a sister-wife that she was "only a proxy wife" and Brigham didn't love her. I don't get the sense that she was a particular favorite either, so I tend to interpret her behavior as someone who was unhappy with her situation trying to "punch down" on wives she viewed as being worse off than her. She had one son, Oscar, who she is buried next to.
Clara Decker (1828-1889) was the younger sister of Lucy Decker, Brigham's first plural wife. She married him in 1844 when she was fifteen. I don't know a lot about her life or personality, unfortunately. Her obituary refers to her as "of a very modest and retiring disposition". Clara, like many other women whose life was primarily in the sphere of the home and who did not leave much if any personal writing, is hard to find traces of in the historical record. (Very much women's historian and fellow Mormon Laurel Thatcher Ulrich’s "well-behaved women rarely make history"). As her gravestone and much of the contemporary writing I can find about her tells us, she was one of three women who accompanied the vanguard pioneers into the Salt Lake Valley in 1847. The other two women were wives of Heber Kimball and Brigham's brother Lorenzo Young. Again, we don't know what Clara thought or felt about this journey, but I imagine traveling to an unknown new home as a nineteen-year-old in a company of over 140 men led by her husband must have been a bit of a strange experience. She is buried next to her daughter Jeanette and near her two other daughters. She also had two sons who did not live to adulthood.
Eliza Burgess (1827-1915), unfortunately, I do not know a lot about either. Eliza immigrated from England to Nauvoo with her family and worked in the Lion House as a servant before marrying Brigham at age 25. Her stepdaughter Susa Young, who wrote a fair amount about her childhood in the Lion House and is one of the only sources on the personality of some lesser-documented wives, described her as a "capable, efficient housewife" and said that "her one release from what might have been corroding jealousy in a lesser soul was driving labor", which is frankly pretty depressing. Susa also described Eliza as a doting mother to her only child, Alfales. As an adult, Alfales was editor of a Mormon-critical paper and was one of two children of Brigham Young who I know outright left the church. Eliza lived with him after being widowed until her death, and he is buried next to her. She was Brigham Young's last surviving wife. Interestingly, there's a photograph taken of Brigham's other seven living wives in 1899, but for some reason Eliza was not included (maybe because of her son's outspoken religious views?)
Harriet Barney (1830-1911) first married at the age of sixteen as the third wife of 31-year-old William Sayers, though their first child was not born until about five years later. She left Sayers after four children and remarried Brigham Young in 1856. (Though both her marriages were polygamous, single mothers, whether divorced or widowed, were disproportionately likely to be in plural marriages if they married again.) She had one more child, Phineas Young, who she is buried next to. Susa Young described her as a "calm, peaceful soul" who was friendly with her sister-wives even though she did not live in the Lion House, which was already fully occupied by the time she married into the family. Her obituary implies that she had suffered from some sort of chronic illness for 40 years by the time of her death.
Finally, we have the third woman named Harriet that Brigham Young married, generally known to historians as Amelia Folsom--she started going by her middle name after her marriage to distinguish herself from the two other Harriets. Harriet Amelia (1838-1910) married 61-year-old Brigham in 1863, and was his undisputed favorite wife until his death. She was the oldest child of church-employed architect William Folsom, apparently a talented pianist and singer, described by contemporaries as charming and fashionable, and frequently accompanied her husband to dances and the theater. As he aged and developed various health problems, she also provided him comfort and companionship at home, including at his home in southern Utah, where he spent the last several winters of his life with just Amelia. She seems to have been liked by some of her sister-wives and resented by others. She never had children--I'm guessing she was not able to, because he had children with other women after their marriage. Still in her thirties when she was widowed, she was left a significant bequest. She ended up spending some time living with her elderly father as his caregiver (like her husband, he suffered from arthritis), and then purchased her own home, where she taught piano lessons and entertained until being disabled by a stroke three years before her death.
The only one of these women who left much of anything in her own words was Augusta, so there's definitely a process here of guesswork when you try to reassemble what these women and their lives might be like, working off the reminiscences of co-wives, stepchildren, children, and public memory.
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goldendiie · 2 years ago
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Fillmores dad tries contacting Sarges family to warn them about their sons sickness
idk if i'll ever actually finish this, but here's a quick bit of nonsense that i wrote about it:
At forty-nine years old, Colonel Thomas Jones thought of himself as successful. He was married by the time he was twenty, a war hero by twenty-three, and the father of two wonderful boys by twenty-five. He worked in a mechanic shop, and he was content to grow old in the same town he had grown up in.
For the record, his sons were successful, too. His eldest, Wade, was a lineman in the next town over. He made good money, had a gorgeous wife and a little baby girl named Jolene. His youngest, Willie, had been a rather successful army man, served two tours in Vietnam; now, he apparently owned a surplus store somewhere in rural Arizona. Thomas Jones had yet to get out there, but he was proud, nonetheless. His boys had turned out to be fine young men.
Thomas thought idly about it—come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Willie in the better part of three or four years. Though, it ought to be a busy life, running a business; work always came first, anyways. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to fly him out for the holidays, if he had the time. After all, Willie probably wanted to meet Wade’s little girl. Thomas smiled at the thought: his family all together again, and his little granddaughter too. It would be nice to crack open a beer with his sons, and talk sports or whatever else.
“Tom,” His wife, Beth, said; she stuck her head into the living room, all blonde hair and dark eyes. “There’s a man at the door for you.”
“Who is it?” Thomas asked, indifferent. He looked back to the television—he had been idly watching the Sunday afternoon football game.
“I don’t know,” Beth said, disappearing again. “He just said he needs to speak with you urgently.”
Thomas rose from his seat and switched off the television, frowning at the score. He stretched quietly, snagging his beer from the end table as he made for the front door.
He did not know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t what he found: there was an expensive black car in his lot, and a rather expensive man on his doorstep. He was extremely tall with graying-brown hair, wearing a crisp suit and horn-rimmed glasses; nearly like the politicians he’d see on television.
“I’m looking for Thomas Jones,” the man said, smoothly.
“That would be me,” Thomas replied, watching the man warily. “Do I know you, sir?”
“Not yet.” The man extended his hand, of which was adorned with an expensive watch. “Roger Callahan.”
“Pleasure,” Thomas said flatly. “What, exactly, do you want, Mr. Callahan?”
Roger Callahan smiled kindly; but, something strange flickered in his eyes, as though he were somehow malicious. “May I come inside?” he asked.
Thomas stared back at him, wishing that he could simply say no. Yet, he obliged, stepping aside. “Sure thing.”
They found themselves at the kitchen table. Thomas watched his wife hover around the stove, fixing a pot of coffee; she stole a wary glance at him, eyebrows raised. Roger Callahan looked almost comical: tall, lanky, and far too rich to be sitting in the kitchen of a lowly mechanic.
He began, “Mr. Jones—
“Colonel,” Thomas corrected.
“Right.” Callahan bared his teeth in something of a grin. “Colonel Jones. We have much to discuss.”
Thomas crossed his arms, disliking the man’s elusiveness. “About?”
“Your son,” Callahan said grimly. “Our sons, actually.”
Confused, Thomas raised his eyebrows. He took a swig from his beer, leaning forward to lean on the kitchen table. “I’m listening.”
In a series of well-articulated and rather upsetting sentences, Callahan told him a story that Thomas Jones found quite unbelievable. His son Willie had, apparently, not left the military by choice: actually, he had been dishonorably discharged under some backwater code that Thomas had never heard of. Callahan produced the discharge papers, sliding them across the table.
“The code is in place for a reason. As a military man yourself, I think you’d understand that,” Callahan said smoothly. “It bars homosexuals from participating in military service—and, removes those in violation of this code from their position.”
Incredulous, Thomas slid the papers back to him. “Are you implying that my son is a homosexual?”
“I’m not implying it,” Callahan replied, “I’m stating it as a fact.”
He continued, claiming that Willie and Callahan’s own son had been seeing one another romantically for the better part of two years. “I had no idea,” Callahan said, “I was actually paying your boy to keep tabs on my son, but…” He huffed, irritated, “Apparently he was taking the money and lying through his teeth about what was actually happening.”
“You must have the wrong family,” Beth cut in from beside the stove, annoyed. “Willie is a good kid. Always went to church, never acted out… This doesn’t sound like him, at all.”
“He’s been seeing my son consistently for two years, Thomas,” Callahan said, dismissively, “My son is a good-for-nothing peacenik with no future. I suppose it’s had an effect on your boy.”
“Why should we believe you?” Thomas asked. “I don’t trust anyone who calls their kid good-for-nothing."
“The discharge papers speak for themselves,” Callahan replied, “I’d think that you’d agree with the codes more than anyone else, Colonel.”
Thomas shook his head, scoffing. “Mr. Callahan, I think it’s time you got the hell off of my property.”
“Colonel Jones, you need to accept that—”
“Accept what?” Thomas snapped, rising from his seat, “That some asshole is trying to slander my son?”
“Tom,” Beth said warningly, “Back off.”
Thomas dropped back into his seat. Callahan stared back at him, expression infuriatingly even.
“I just figured that you’d want to know,” Callahan said lowly. He stood from his seat, pulling a business card from his pocket. “I’ll be going, now. Call this telephone number if you need to reach me.”
With that, he left out the way he came, shutting the front door quietly behind him.
Thomas deflated, resting his head into his hands. His wife appeared behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders.
“Do you believe him?” Thomas asked lowly.
“I don’t know,” Beth replied. “I don’t want to believe him.”
“Mm.”
Thomas was anxious for the rest of the day. He didn’t exactly know what to think: the discharge was a plain fact, but he wished to believe that the rest of Callahan’s story was untrue. In the case that it was, however… The only option he really had was to try and get help for it. Certainly, there were institutions that strove to fix illnesses like that?
That evening, he resolved to call Willie out in Arizona to speak to him personally. Beth lingered close by his shoulder at the telephone, evidently hoping to listen in.
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themockingpoint · 2 years ago
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👀
306AC- 4 Months into the Reign of Jacaerys I Targaryen
Jon looked into the small council chamber and sighed. So this was the price of kin slaying? Every time Jon closed his eyes, he could see Dany’s face on the dark side of his eyelids. The nightmares were worse than ever. Bran should have been King like Tyrion wanted. But after Arya had Grey Worm translate Daenerys’ speech to the lords and ladies of the lands unanimously, minus Yara Greyjoy, to pardon Jon. Since Jon was the only person alive who had any practice in being a King- a king of just two kingdoms and Sansa did most of the hard work- but here he was. King of the Seven Kingdoms. If only Lady Catelyn could see him now...
Jon sighed, and pushed his guilt aside. Daenerys wasn’t the one who destroyed King’s Landing. He did not know who that was in her body, but he knew that they had to be stopped. After all the good she had done for her to do something like that… It was a twist no one could have seen coming. He knew his father, not the man who slept with half a child and got thousands killed for his own ego, his true father Eddard Stark would have done what was right.
Once again he sighed to himself, maybe this was the perfect punishment. To sit on the throne the woman he loved should have been sitting on when she was not able to. Just as he was about to start spiraling into another depressive state the new Hand of the King walked in.
“Good Morning, Your Grace.” He said, looking happier than Jon had ever seen. Although to be fair he barely knew the man.
“Good Morning, Lord Royce.” Bronze Yohn Royce was a recommendation from Sansa. She was his first pick but when Sansa pointed out, rightfully so, that it would not sit well with a lot of the people around the kingdom for Jon to have his female twenty year old cousin as Hand of the King. She almost immediately recommended Lord Royce, as he was one of her closest allies in the Vale and their father never had a bad thing to say about him. He was not regretting his choice so far. “You seem to be in a good mood today.”
“I am! My daughter Ysilla just gave birth. A little girl named Lydiana Redford. Apparently she looks just like her mother.” He said beaming. The man’s joy was infectious.
“Congratulations My Lord. Your first grandchild?” Jon said, allowing himself to smile. Not as wide as Bronze Yohn, not even as wide as he might have before his resurrection but a smile nonetheless. When the man nodded Jon continued, “If you would like I give you my leave to travel to the Vale after this meeting.”
“Your Grace!” He said, surprised. “I am honored, and I thank you, however I do not think it is the best idea so soon.”
“Nonsense.” Jon said, waving him off. “It is alright. We can last a few moons without you.”
“But your own reign has barely made it past a few moons.” Royce said.
“He’s right.” His new Master of Coin waddled in. If being King was Jon’s nightmare and a fitting punishment than the horror of having to fix the 13.8 million that the crown owed to various fractions would be the same to Tyrion Lannister. “You don’t even have a full Small Council yet. Already starting to send them away would look very bad.”
“We have a full Small Council.” Jon argued, technically not lying.
“Even counting Lord Manderly…” Tyrion began.
“Lord Waters will be taking over as soon as his wife recovers from the… He’ll be here to replace Lord Wyman soon enough.” Jon argued. The northern lord agreed to take the role of Master of Ships as a favor for Jon until a full-time replacement could be found. After everything that happened between the War of the Five Kings, War for the Dawn, and War of the Mad Queens the old man just wanted to go home so he could train his granddaughter how to run White Harbor.
“Even counting Lord Manderly… You still have all of the Master of Laws, Grand Maester and both Lord Commander positions to fill. Not to mention all of the smaller positions that keep the kingdom running that most people don’t think about.” Tyrion stressed. “You are going to be alone soon enough. I’ve heard from Lord Davos that Storm’s End is almost ready for Lord Gendry to go too and the Princess Lannister is set to go back to Winterfell within a Fortnight.”
“I told you that joke was not funny and not to repeat it.” Sansa snapped as she rolled Bran, the new Master of Whisperers into the room. One of the only benefits of the Tower of the Hand being destroyed by Drogon was that Bran could arrive with no issue and no need for anyone to carry him. Jon could not lie and say he was disappointed at the fact that he would not be able to work in the same place his father worked before his death.
“Good morning, Your Grace.” Lord Manderly said as he followed his sibling-cousins into the room nodding at Jon before giving Tyrion the stink eye. “Although it may not be since I believe kin slaying would put a damper on things. Even if the kin in question was no longer Princess Sansa’s kin. Not technically.”
“OK, OK.” Tyrion said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I can see with this group being so close to the Starks that that joke is not going to get me nowhere. Speaking of this group being very close to the Starks…”
“Where is Maester Samwell and Lord Baratheon?” Jon said, cutting him off. He knew where that line of thought was going, and he wanted none of it. Tyrion was too smart to make that joke in this room for him to not use it as an opening.
“Gendry was responding to some mail.” Sansa said. “He was able to track a few of Robert’s other bastards who survived Joffrey’s purge and he has been in contact. God knows that Robert had enough- it would have been hard enough to get to them all. Even with an army.”
“His lessons are going well then?” Jon asked. Gendry was by no means lacking intelligence, but he was unlearned in many subjects such as reading. Sam had been aiding him in his education that he would need to utilize as a lord paramount. “Also, I hope he isn’t expecting me to just legitimize any and every one of Robert’s bastards, we have enough problems including a potential secession crisis in Dorne. We do not need one in the Stormlands as well.”
“I do not know if he plans to do so.” Sansa said, shrugging. She held an air of nonchalance, but he could tell she was hiding something. Even if he hadn’t been able to recognize the look on his sister-cousin’s face, he recognized it from Catelyn Tully’s face. He had to deal with it every time he was in the same room as her and his father.
“Alright. I know Gendry and I trust Gendry. Without his skill in forging the Dragon Glass weapons we may not be here right now.” Jon said, “But I would need to meet the other children. Please do not allow me to forget to bring this up to him.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Lord Royce said, nodding.
“Before we begin and I forget, Lord Royce would you mind writing to your cousin and requesting Lady Myranda for one of my ladies in waiting. My time with her in the Vale we became very close.” Sansa said, not so subtly kicking Tyrion under the table. They exchanged looks and Jon had to stop himself from rolling his eyes from how two of the best players of the "game of thrones" could be so obvious in what they wanted to convey.
“Y—Yes My lady. I shall do it after this meeting.” Bronze Yohn was saying just as Sam burst through the door. The chain's rattling reminded Jon of Maester Luwin and Jon’s Uncle Aemon, whom Jon wanted to take his new official name from but just could not. He’d not sully his name after kin slaying and oath breaking.
“We’re here!” Sam said, slightly yelling out of breath as he jogged into the council chamber. “We… are… here….”
“Thank you, Maester. Now we can finally begin.” Bronze Yohn said, passive aggressively. “We have a few important topics to speak about.”
“The first should be a matter of Kingsguard.” Sansa said, so quick Bronze Yohn might as well have been still speaking. As the Hand started to look through his papers she added, “That should be the number one priority. It is amazing that we have let this go for so long.”
“Out of all the things we should have to deal with that really should not be a priority.” Jon said. “Half of King's Landing is destroyed, the Riverlands is decimated and Dorne is on the brink of civil war and that is just the beginning.”
“Are you telling me that the man who was stabbed to death by his own men doesn’t see the importance in having protection?” Sansa sneered trying not to roll her eyes.
“She does have a point, Your Grace.” Bronze Yohn said clicking his tongue. “Not to mention that a proper Kingsguard will add legitimacy to your rule. Although to be honest at this point there are not many names I can think of that both have the skill and the desire to join such a brotherhood.”
“Yes, you cannot just have Podrick being your only source of protection. No offense Pod!” Tyrion said quickly tacking on the last part.
“None taken My Lord.” The recently knighted man said.
“I was speaking with Maester Glesson.” Sam began, talking about one of the many maesters who flooded the capital when everything was said and done. There were almost as many Maesters in King’s Landing as there were in Oldtown at the moment. “When Sandor Clegane fought his brother many of the current kingsguard were cut down. However we do have two Kingsguard who survived their injuries. Another was escorting the other nobles from the palace and was injured in the falling rubble.”
“Are any of them willing to rejoin.” Jon asked. It seemed like he was getting a Kingsguard whether he liked it or not. It might as well be people he approved of.
“Ser Balon Swann.” Tyrion said, showing that he knew more than he was letting on once again. He noted both Lord Royce and Sansa noticed the same thing.
“Yes.” Sam replied. “He got hit in the arm but is expected to make a recovery within the fortnight. He said he does not wish to be presumptuous, but he is willing to come back so long as he isn’t asked to be Lord Commander.”
“Well that is a little presumptuous.” Tyrion said, “But highly astute. I would have recommended him. He was the only person who refused to speak against me at my trial.”
“He did seem different from the other White Cloaks from my time here.” Sansa said, and Jon’s face darkened at her words. He knew the extent of what happened with Ramsey, and to an extent what happened with Cersei and Joffrey, but it was only after moving to King's Landing did she tell him the full story of the Kingsguard. “He… I don’t think he’s a bad idea.”
“What about the other two?”
“Andrey Serry. Good brother to the man you just appointed Lord Paramount of the Reach.” Samwell said, “And Roland Waters, bastard from House Rosby.”
“Any of them can stay on as Kingsguard or they take the Black.” Jon said. Tyrion convinced him that taking the Black should still be an option. The Night's Watch may not have their original purpose anymore but it would prevent bloodshed to give criminals (and political opponents) an option other than death. “That still leaves a few spots open to fill and no one we can trust yet.
“Your Grace?” Gendry started rather timidly for him. He still hadn’t become accustomed to being part of a group whose decisions affected the realm as a whole despite being legitimized months ago. “When I was little, when King Robert needed to find a member he usually held a tourney.”
“There’s no way we can even think about holding a tourney now!” Jon said, trying not to sound indignant.
“Maybe not at the moment.” Lord Manderly said, “But the idea is not without its merit. While winter is dying down it isn’t completely done. So having one of them right now is out of the question. Maybe in a year’s time?”
“You expect for the city to be redone in a year?” Jon asked, looking out the room's window.
“No but we do not have to host it here.” Sansa said, in a tone that let Jon know she was leading somewhere. “We can have it at Dragonstone.”
“Dragonstone?”
“You forget Brother, you are the last Targaryen. Dragonstone is yours by right.” Sansa said, nodding. “Dragonstone is big enough and it most certainly has done so in the past.”
“In addition, we don’t have to offer such a…. steep reward.” Tyrion said. “Robert was always very generous with his offerings. With us in as much debt as we are it does not seem wise to offer that much.”
Bronze Yohn scoffed, “They will do it for the honor of being a member of the Kingsguard.”
“That seems fair.” Jon said. “I also want archers as part of the guard. We learned from our time at the Night’s Watch that just being good at swordplay is hindering in the long run.”
“That doesn’t solve our problem today.” Sansa said. “We can’t just let you go around without protection.”
“Send out the word. We are looking for knights. They don’t have to swear in the same oaths, but they’ll be needed for the next year.” Jon said, gaining various disapproving looks in return.
“You’ll be attracting many Hedge Knights, Your Grace.” Yohn said, “Not exactly the best at the moment.”
“It is fine.” Jon said, remembering the days before he went to join the Watch. He thought himself a conquering hero and determined to show that his birth did not affect his worth. Maybe he will get a few noble knights in this first group. “Duncan the Tall was also a hedge knight yet one of the greatest knights in the history of the Seven Kingdoms. So long as they’re willing to rise to the occasion.”
“Your Grace, I would also recommend another name.” Tyrion said. “There is a boy, well not a boy but a knight, Edric Storm. He is the son of King Robert?”
“And you think he is a good idea?” Gendry asked incredulously. Jon wasn’t sure whether it was due to him not thinking it to be a good idea or because he did not want to lose another family member. “With our fathers’ history?”
“He is the son of two nobles one of which was the king whom he is almost a spitting image of.” Tyrion countered. “There are many that say Storm’s End and even the Iron Throne, what’s left of it anyway, should belong to him. This gets a political obstacle out of the way for both King Jacaerys and Lord Gendry. With a prestigious position to boot.”
“Your Grace…” Gendry began before being cut off by Tyrion.
“The King has already said he doesn’t plan on legitimizing any of your siblings.” Tyrion said, causing Gendry to give an indignant huff before Jon clarified.
“I don’t plan on legitimizing all of your siblings. We do not need a succession crisis in the Stormlands as well. But yes I do not plan on legitimizing any of your siblings currently. It will only cause problems."
"However," Sansa began. "There were 18 great houses wiped out in the last few years. A few more in the male line but that is 18 keeps that need people in charge of them. We can start a cadet branch with some of them if necessary."
“Now onto the next subject, we have too much to talk about.”
All of his advisors looked around at everyone else to bring something up. “That’s it? Why did we bother even having a meeting!”
“They didn’t want to put too much on the docket due to the Dornish ambassador coming” Bran said, in his new normal deadpanned tone. “But they expected you to fight having guardsmen much harder.”
When the rest of the council had somewhat guilty looks on their faces, he knew that Bran told the truth. He didn’t want to say it, but he did appreciate the fact that Bran was much more straightforward than he used to be. It was better than most others he dealt with in King’s Landing. Even Sansa had begun to sew and weave her words when they were around other people instead of being blunt like they were in private.
Jon sighed, “When does Lord Dayne get here?”
“Lord Dayne?” Sansa asked in a tight voice. Jon looked at his sister curiously to see that she was blushing like when they were children. Jon knew that they met during the Battle of the Dawn but he was surprised that the Dornish Knight would have left such an impression on Sansa.
“In two hours,” Bran said, causing their sister to let out an almost inaudible squeak. “Maybe two and a half. This will allow us to help catch him up on things this evening”
“Good, this realm has seen enough war. If Lord Dayne can help us peacefully then we need to work with him however possible. If no one else has anything…” Jon began almost breaking the meeting before he heard two fake coughs. He looked at the open door and realized that the sell sword that was always following Tyrion around was the one coughing.
“Ah, yes. Speaking of all of those holdings that need new lords...” Tyrion began and for the first time since Jon knew him, the Lannister looked bashful. “Highgarden…”
“Yes, we found the closest Tyrell relative, Lord Theodore. They should be taking over any day.” Bronze Yohn said, eyeing the mercenary distainfully.
“Bullocks.” Tyrion said as Bronn glared at him. “There is a… personal matter I would like to speak to you about, Your Grace.”
“The Dwarf promised me a castle. Highgarden, actually.” Bronn said, curtly.
“Well I’m not going to give it to someone else while they still have heirs.” Jon snapped, although he did appreciate the bluntness.
“Well I am still owed a castle.” Bronn said, although he did have the grace to glare at Tyrion instead of Jon.
“In due time friend.” Tyrion said, holding up his hand.
“I’m sick of you Lannister’s jerking me off!” Bronn snapped.
“If I may…” Lord Manderly started, “Princess Sansa you have been looking for someone to take over the Dreadfort?”
“Yes, between the War of the Five Kings and Dawn we have had six great families wiped out in the North alone. The Bolton’s of the Dreadfort, the Umber’s of Last Hearth, the Mormont’s of Bear Island, the Fisher’s of Stoney Shore, the Hornwood’s of Hornwood and the Flint’s of the Fingers, all these bannerman and their keeps need these positions to be filled. The houses that did survive are in no position to help and start cadet branches. I can used someone I can depend on.” Sansa said, with a wry grin she added. "Any of them that tickles your fancy you can have."
“You’d be a fool to trust me.” Bronn scoffed.
“I never said someone I trust. Someone I can depend on to get the job done however, is exactly what I need.” Sansa said, calmly “You seemed to be kept on Lord Tyrion’s retainer pretty well.”
“And you expect me to freeze my bullocks off in that frozen wasteland you call home?” Bronn said, incredulously
“Beggars cannot be choosers my friend.” Tyrion said, “You have been offered six different keeps and you are turning them down.”
“I was promised Highgarden!” He snapped.
“Well I can’t give it to you! I do not know what else…” Tyrion started
“There is another choice.” Bran said, in the mystical cryptic tone he normally used. “Give him Casterly Rock.”
Tyrion choked on air. “My family seat?”
“It’s not as if you will be using it while you are working on the Small Council.” Bran said, “And it is not as if you have any family to run it in your stead.”
“Brandon!” Sansa snapped.
“What?” Bran deadpanned and Jon was horrified to see that his younger brother-cousin did not realize what he said was wrong. “He knew what would happen as soon as he fired that bolt.”
“Much of the conflict that has happened over the past two decades have been due to the schemes of House Lannister. Both Tywin and Cersei. Mayhaps it is best we let the name die out. Both the Frey and Bolton names have been wiped out. I see it fitting that the same happens to the last name that helped break guests right at the Red Wedding shares their fate.” Lord Manderly shrugged, but no one forgot that he too lost a son due to the betrayals of those houses.
“Just so we’re clear, you’d be raising me to Paramount of the Westerlands?” Bronn asked, eyebrow cocked with an amused smirk.
“I doubt it.” Bronze Yohn scoffed. “You? You are a sell sword. You don’t even have a family name.”
“You bet your bottom and tit I do!” Bronn said, causing Yohn to scowl at the man. “House… House Blackwater! House Blackwater of Casterly Rock.”
“Lord Tyrion?” Jon asked, and he could see that his friend’s face had darkened. This was his birthright. Something that had been denied to him by his father for a long time. It was something that he could empathize with.
Tyrion sighed before saying, “My family has brought nothing but rot to the seven kingdoms this last decade.” He pinched his nose before continuing. “However, the Westerlands, my family’s own bannermen, will never follow you. Unless…”
“Unless what.” Bronn snapped.
“My cousin Joy.” Tyrion said. “The bastard daughter of my Uncle Gerion. My only family left. Still unmarried. About the same age as your youngest sister, Your Grace. If we can arrange a betrothal between her and Ser Bronn.”
“Probably a legitimization as well.” Sansa added, “Although not completely necessary.”
“And you will probably need to fill one of the empty Council spots with a Westerlenian.” Tyrion said, “I recommend Ser Addam Marbrand, my brother trusted him. He would make a good Master at Laws.”
“You are alright with this My Lord?” Jon said, “Tis your birthright.”
“Well it is like Prince Brandon and Wyman said, Your Grace. My family wrecked this country. Joy and I are the last of the Lannisters. As long as he agrees to the betrothal then maybe… if our name could fade out peacefully…”
Jon sighed with a headache. It was not even midday and he already had a headache. “Very well, Ser Bronn of House… Blackwater” Jon said pausing at the ridiculous house name. The man was going to be Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, and he was naming himself after something in the Crownlands. Whatever... “I name you Lord of Casterly Rock. However, I am not naming you Lord Paramount. We shall have another Westerlands house take that role. It will be decided at a later date. Warden of the West, that shall go to the Lord Tyrell of the Reach, With Warden of the South going to whoever holds the Dornish seat.”
“Good enough for me.” Bronn said with a side smirk. He left the council room whistling the tune to the Dornishman’s wife.
“Please tell me that was not a mistake.” Jon said, looking at Tyrion.
“He knows those mines are mostly dry. Can’t be a worse choice than my sister.” The Master of Coin said, shrugging. “At least the heirs of the Casterly Rock will have Lannister blood in their veins. Speaking of heirs…” he finished leading.
“Meeting adjourned.” Jon said, trying not to grind his teeth. “I shall see you all on the docks in two hours.”
“Gendry!” Sansa said, in a predetermined signal. The former blacksmith stood in front of the door, his bulk completely blocking the door for Jon to leave. “We need to speak of this Jon! It has been over four moons! Honestly I am surprised that there haven’t been more lords already throwing their daughters at you!”
“Sansa…”
“The Princess is correct, Your Grace.” Lord Royce said. “You must have an heir to stabilize your reign.”
There was a pregnant pause before Jon turned to her sister-cousin. “Who do you recommend?” At her faux confused look he added, “Don’t start, you always look at your feet before you lie. I know you have a list.”
“While my unmarried daughters are too young, one of my cousins, Myranda, is unattached, Your Grace.” Lord Royce said, “She is only a few years older than you.”
Myranda… Myranda… where did he hear that name before Myranda. My.. Randa, Randa… “Is she the one that…” Jon asked trailing off looking at Sansa to check on her story from the Vale. Her solemn expression breaking into a grimace told it all.
“He was… very old, Your Grace.” Yohn said, regretfully.
“If I may, Your Grace?” Lord Manderly added, “I have two granddaughters.”
“Wylla and Wynafryd If I am not mistaken?” Jon said. Honestly, he would take the first woman offered to him. Dany was barely dead and in the ground. He did not feel like courting, nor did he care who he ended up with.
“Yes, although currently I am training Wynafryd to be my heir.” Wyman said happy with himself to show that he was training and making a woman his heir as if Dorne and the Mormont’s had not been doing the same for centuries.
“I do not think that is a good idea, Your Grace.” Tyrion said, holding up his hand to the other two men at the perceived insult. “You are already connected to House Stark through your Cousins, who in turn are connected to the Vale and Riverlands through their mother’s kin. We need to think in terms of strengthening your ties to other regions.”
“I would not cut out all Northerners, Lord Tyrion.” Sansa said. “There is still Lady Meera Reed. Our family owes her quite a debt. Making her queen seems just enough to repay that debt.”
The entire council looked at her. She was speaking quite strangely and not at all how she usually speaks. “In fact, I do not think there is anyone else out there who is worthy of her. Only a king is good enough for our banner…”
“Enough!” Bran snapped, more emotion in his voice than Jon had heard in nearly a decade. It seems the Three-eyed Raven could still get jealous. “We decided no citizens of the Northerners, Vale or Riverlanders. Move along.”
The eyebrows of the council shot up in surprise but a look from Jon prevented anyone from saying something. Sansa met his eyes though- she had been more and more worried about her little brother and came to Jon frequently about it. Jon could not even be annoyed that she used the Small Council meeting for her little experiment seeing how it worked.
“Who else is on that list Sansa?” Jon asked, trying to change the subject so that Bran would stop fuming.
“Well if we are keeping in mind that we need to do this for an Alliance then not as many. Because we also want to pair you with someone we can trust, not someone who will slit your throat as soon as get a child on them. May the gods forbid another Cersei Lannister on as the Queen.”
“Here, here!” Tyrion said, holding up his goblet as if his actions were not the ones that directly led to her sitting on the throne.
“So really there are only three names that we should consider.” Sansa said, “Someone from Dorne or the Reach. Dorne is likely to still be angry about the actions of your parents so maybe a Dornish wife may relive tensions with that region. Jynessa Blackmont and Allyria Dayne from Dorne. Lady Jynessa is going to be with the Dornish ambassador’s party and Lady Allyria is…”
“Not an opinion.” Bran said, causing Sansa to look at him strangly.
“Lady Jynessa was in the Dornish Party when Prince Oberyn came for Joffery’s wedding. She seemed kind enough when I met her, but we should be wary.” Sansa said, rolling with Bran’s statements. He does not speak very often anymore so when he does they all make sure to listen. “Now for the Reach really the only choice is Desmera Redwyne.”
“I uh also Your Grace.” Sam stuttered, “My sister Talla is also of marriageable age.”
Jon looked at his best friend in anguish. It was clear he truly did not want to offer her name but was doing so because he felt honor bound to do so. Honestly, Jon could not blame him. The last two women he loved were brutally stabbed in the heart.
“You are already on the Council, Sam.” Jon said. “It would not be a good idea to marry her lest I get accused of putting friends in powerful positions.”
Everyone knew that was a weak argument, it was almost expected to put those closest to you in powerful positions, but no one contradicted him.
“There is always the new Lord of the Reach, Theodore’s daughter… Elia?” Tyrion said, “They could be a great al…”
“Elinor?” Sansa said, a mix of incredulous and furious. “Absolutely not!”
“You know her?” Jon asked. After Daenerys, Jon was not going to ignore his sister-cousin’s judgment. Not again. Especially after his interact with this specific Tyrell the night before.
“Yes.” Sansa replied curtly. Everyone looked at her expectantly, but she did not elaborate.
“Mayhaps we shouldn’t jump…”
“I will NOT have her as part of my family.” She snapped to Jon’s surprise. While she was not emotionless like Bran, she did hide her emotions much more. Outbursts like this one she hadn’t shown in years.
“Your Grace.” Bronze Yohn started and just by his look Jon could tell he would not like what was about to be said. But interestingly enough it was Gendry that he was looking at apprehensively. “There is another Young Lady in the Vale… I believe the Princess Sansa was made her acquaintance while she was in the Vale…”
“Please just say what you wish to say Lord Royce.” Jon said, he was only in the Capital a few moons and already he was sick of the word games.
“She is the bastard daughter of Robert Baratheon.” Royce said finally. “It may be a way to put to bed any lingering doubts about you sitting on the throne. With both regimes united and on the Throne.”
“She… is a good person.” Sansa said, but the look on Gendry’s face he was not sure what he should do.
“No.” Bran said, before looked confused. “There is someone at the door.”
Gendry narrowed his eyebrows and opened the door to find a woman in dark red. “Hello my king. I am…”
“A red priestess.” Jon completed.
“Yes, Your Grace.” The woman said with a slight bow. “I heard what you were speaking of. My order has done more research into… the events surrounding your death.”
“You mean his death and resurrection?” Tyrion asked.
“Yes.” The Priestess confirmed. “Thoros of our order was the first to preform… such a ceremony. We are still unsure of the long term effects.”
“Is there a point, My Lady?”
“You need an heir.” The priestess said. “Unfortunately from what we have discovered, you will be unable to.”
There was pause as his council started murmuring. Jon not being able to have children was bad omen. The realm had just come off a war due to a succession crisis, and now their elected king could not have children? This would cause a lot of turmoil. Although it did help explain how Daenerys never got pregnant despite their coupling.
“I sense a ‘However’ coming.” Sansa said, grounding the conversation.
“We have found that those who have also undergone the same procedure, are more susceptible to receive the gift of life.” The Priestess said.
“As far as I am aware, there are no other Westerosi has undergone this procedure.” Tyrion said, “We do need them to be Wester…osi.”
His new master of coin trailed off as two more women in Red Robes walked into the room. The younger blonde looked surprisingly skittish, as Tyrion and Sansa looked at her in shock. “Myrcella?” Tyrion whispered in horrified shock.
Jon and Sansa exchanged a look as the room broke up Myrcella causing the unofficial ending of the meeting. She grabbed the back of his hand and said, “Don’t worry Jon. You only have this job forever.”
“Arya is a bad influence on you.” Jon grumbled. “I don’t think I like it…”
Sansa laughed as she led Bran from the room. “It’s only for forever…”
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fantastical-euphoria · 9 months ago
Text
my brother owen and i had a pretty sweet relationship.
i was good at baking cupcakes from scratch and making him laugh.
he was good at math and being honest with me. the good kind of honest.
i knew our relationship was special the instant i knew how to say “brother.” except, the way i said it when i was younger, i had trouble pronouncing the first r. so it sounded like “butther.”
i still call him that to this day, as a bit of an inside joke (it’s actually what i have him saved under in my phone). he never minds it, in fact, that’s one of the things that makes him laugh. he thinks it’s sweet.
just like the cupcakes i bake.
i’m not a professional baker by any means, even though owen always convinces me that i should become one.
i mentioned he was good at math. well, he’s a high school AP math teacher, so it couldn’t have been more obvious.
he always liked to bring in my cupcakes to his students on test days. apparently they were a huge hit.
so, the name that he’s got me saved under in his phone is “cupcake czar.” i thought a czar was a type of salad?
i wasn’t in his class, because a) i absolutely sucked at math, and b) i’d probably feel too much pressure by the other smart nerds in that class to function properly.
that was owen. he was a nerd. but he was very down to earth about it. like, he didn’t make it his entire personality.
but these twins, ava and harper, who just so happened to be my best friends, were in his class.
they had agreed to bunny-sit my three pet bunnies, angela, helen, and grace, while owen and i went away on a family vacation.
the drive up to santa clarita was six whole hours crammed in the backseat of my parents’ station wagon. with reasonable (and logical) restroom breaks in between (my mom still liked to call them potty breaks).
“is the one with the nerdy glasses and braces the one who has a crush on me?” owen asked when i’d told them about ava and harper.
“no, that’s harper. the one you’re thinking about is ava.”
“ah. i see. yeah, ava sits closer to the back for some reason.” he shrugged. “dunno why.”
“so harper sits in the front?”
“yeah, very front,” owen smiled in admiration. “she’s one of my really good students. always gets straight a’s on everything.”
“and what about ava?” i snickered.
“the occasional b here and there. i keep telling her to study. she never listens.”
i laughed. “she’s stubborn.”
“yeah. i’d rather the one who takes the course seriously be the one who wants to be my wife,” owen chuckled.
then he opened up a book that he had taken with him, which was a calc lesson planner that looked super complex and disorienting.
he quickly flipped to a page and cleared his throat.
“okay,” owen said to me with a smirk, “to calculate a derivative, what’s the first thing you must always do?”
“uh…” i froze in place. “panic?”
he immediately laughed and waggled a finger at me. “i knew you’d say that.” he cleared his throat again, resorting to flipping a page. “but, no, we don’t panic. we take a deep breath, and say to ourselves YES, i’ve got this, i can do this!”
i laughed nervously and shook my head. “no i can’t. i’m not smart.”
“i told you not to say that,” he tapped my temple with his fist before closing his math book and setting it aside. “alright, how about i refresh your times tables?”
okay, that was more bearable.
“what’s nine times seven?” he asked me.
“uh…” i hated having to work my brain on vacation, but when your brother was a teacher, you really had no choice. “twenty-seven?”
he shook his head at me disapprovingly. “wrong. it’s 63. now, what’s eight times five?”
i breathed a small sigh of relief. phew, that’s an easy one.
“eighty. wait, no, forty.”
owen smiled and patted my head. “there you go. now can you tell me what… four times nine is?”
“thirty-six.” i rolled my eyes. “why can’t we pass the time by doing something that’s actually fun like…”
“like what?” he asked, deadpanned and unamused.
“like… i dunno… rock paper scissors?”
he looked at me like he was properly offended by what i just said. “so you don’t think math is fun? is that what i’m hearing?”
i sighed heavily. “mom,” i called to her, “owen’s being mean to me.”
“owen, stop teasing your sister,” mom shouted back to us.
“i’m not teasing her mom,” he shot back.
it was so funny how we still acted like little kids at times, even though owen was 25 going on 26 and i was seventeen going on eighteen.
midway through the trip, i had only yawned when owen went, “uh oh, someone’s getting tired.”
“owen, shut up,” i grumbled, rolling my eyes.
“somebody’s getting sleeepyyy,” he sang, tapping my forearm with his fist multiple times.
“owen, if you don’t stop, i swear to god…”
“owen, please,” that was mom’s voice again. “you’re twenty-five now, you should know better.”
“sorry, sorry,” he laughed. “you know i can’t help it.”
“you totally can,” i murmured, folding my arms and looking outside the window.
as annoying as he was, i knew that deep down, he had the biggest heart, crafted out of pure, solid gold.
about seven years ago, when he was in the hospital, as soon as he heard about his type 1 diabetes diagnosis, the first question he asked was “does this mean i can’t eat any of my sister’s homemade cupcakes anymore?” and he sounded like he was right about to cry when he asked that. but the doctors calmly reassured him that yes, he could, but in simple moderation.
a year later, when i myself was in the hospital for a ruptured appendix (i got it taken out, don’t worry) owen had bought me a cupcake stuffed animal with the cutest little face on it, as a “get well soon” present. and for some strange reason i felt tears collect in my eyes. so owen immediately lifted me up out of my hospital bed and just held me in his arms for five minutes, even though he really wasn’t supposed to (i was technically on bedrest for 2 whole weeks). and that was something he first started doing when i was much littler than he was and easier to pick up.
i was now about an inch shorter than he was and he still did it. of course, he does it to all our little cousins as well. they all love him.
mom would always say to him “owen, careful with riley, you know that’s dangerous.” but owen would retort, “mom, c’mon, we’re just playing. she likes it. we’re having fun.”
maybe he hated the thought of me growing up. maybe he hated the thought of himself growing up.
and the truth was, i hated the thought of losing him.
as corny as this sounded, he was my rock.
and he was a very exotic rock, at that. but i wouldn’t change a thing.
he never cried when he got hurt. but he always cried when i got hurt. no matter how many times i’d assure him that i was fine.
the only time i ever actually cried because i could feel myself hurting really bad was during the hospital stay the night before my appendix removal, and the week before owen had come back from college.
i was in the dark, and all alone.
when the nurse came in to check on me, she asked me if i needed anything.
“i need owen,” i’d instantly said to her. “he… he’s in college right now… but i really miss him… i know he’s a little annoying but… he’s supposed to be. he’s my big brother but… he’s also my big best friend. and i love him.”
and i just could not stop crying that night.
“w-why does he have to be away,” i’d stammered to her. “i don’t want him so far away. i just want him here. with me. making me feel less scared and alone.” i smiled slightly. “he’s really good at doing that.”
“what does he do to make you feel less scared and alone?” the nurse had asked me softly.
“everything that annoys me.” that was the simple answer. because it was true. as much as it got under my skin… it showed that he cared about me. and that he wanted what was best for me. and that he loved me, even if i wasn’t any good at math.
during the time owen was away at school, my mom was going through her cancer treatment. owen felt really bad upon hearing about it while he wasn’t anywhere near us, so much so that he began to fast his sophomore year.
he lost a combined thirty pounds when he graduated.
naturally, my mom was able to put all the weight she had before the cancer diagnosis back on, as she was now in remission (and currently three years strong).
owen, on the other hand, hasn’t been able to gain back the weight quite as easily.
it was also an especially hard time for our mom while he was away, but not because he was away.
her cancer caused her to suffer a miscarriage, the experience still as traumatizing to her as it was when it happened.
i was twelve. i didn’t know i was going to be a big sister until the day i found out my future sibling was dead.
sorry, kind of an eerie way of putting it.
owen didn’t know about it at the time, and hadn’t found out until he returned home. but i think mom had her reasons for not telling him straight away.
she had once said that he couldn’t be trusted holding babies. which i knew wasn’t at all true. he was a golden ray of sun around them, always.
any time that we’d go over to our cousins’ house, they were babies at the time, everyone would always let me hold them. but never him.
“they either told me i was holding them too gently or too tightly,” owen recounted one night. “i could never get it right… maybe i’m just not meant to hold one… ever… in my life…”
and he simply sighed and looked away from me, as if he was trying to hide his expression. i knew he didn’t want to talk about it anymore.
“ri. ri?” owen’s words and his hand on my shoulder made me snap back to reality. “you okay? why are you crying?”
“owen? did you make her cry?” my dad suddenly asked.
“no i didn’t!” owen instantly retorted, a touch of fear in his eyes as he shook his head.
“owen, stop making her cry,” my mom stated.
owen sighed and backed off of me a bit, leaning his head up against the window and staring out of it. “i’m sorry,” i saw him mouth to me, looking at me sadly.
i didn’t understand. he didn’t do anything wrong. why were my parents always telling him “no, don’t do that,” especially if it was involving me?
but, they also weren’t wrong. he did make me cry. because he had so much pure good in him. the good that mom and dad only saw as bad and wrong. he was an adult now, for god’s sake.
yet i was too nervous to defend him. and that would always be my biggest regret.
my mind drifted back to when my mom was pregnant, and i was about to turn thirteen. we’d found out that it was a girl, and that her name was going to be starla.
“you’d be the absolute best big sister to her,” mom had told me, with heart and sincerity. i knew she meant it. i’d wanted to be one for a while.
“do you think she would like owen?” i asked.
“well… don’t you think she’d much rather have a sister to look up to? a fellow girl? you two would have so much fun together. and certainly have a lot to talk about,” mom chuckled. “girly things.”
the thing was, i wasn’t even into anything girly.
but i knew she’d probably be into my bunnies (i had just gotten them around that time).
naturally that night, i’d talked to owen over the phone about that conversation. and he’d gone silent for a few minutes. which made me worried. but when he finally spoke again, i could feel my heart breaking slightly.
“she would never want a brother like me,” owen lamented to me. “inalways mess things up. and you… well, you’d be perfect for her. because… you are perfect. she would just adore you.” i could just tell how much he was holding back tears when he said this.
the miscarriage broke owen about as much as it broke me. he lost even more weight, only about five pounds though. and his complexion became a little bit paler from that day forward.
yet i often like to think of what could have been. if starla had been born, and she was this 4-year-old, soft, glowing, golden yellow light in this crazy world of ours.
i’d always wanted a little sister to follow me around everywhere and tell bedtime stories to as she snuggled up next to me while we sat together in my bed, and afterwards, i’d carry her back into her room and tuck her in and whisper “i love you” with a warm and endearing smile.
one that would hide under my bed for safety and steal all my stuffed animals and hug me randomly because she loved me that much.
and i would take her outside, we’d sneak through the back door, and we’d play tag in the grass and fall down in a giggly heap and lay close together while we stared up at the stars. and when she got too tired, i’d scoop her up in my arms and whisper to her “ri ri’s gotcha.” and she’d fall asleep right there.
and she wouldn’t have to say a word. she’d simply squeeze my hand to show how much she loved me.
i looked in between owen and i. the car seat would be right there.
then my eyes flashed over to owen.
i mentioned earlier about how he could be the most honest person. and i don’t mean honest like, he’ll reveal the ugly truth to you and you’ll hate him for doing so. no. he’ll word it so it makes you feel good about yourself. he had no bad intentions whatsoever. he only wanted what was best for you.
an instance i could think of was when i was beating myself up over being different from the other kids in my class, back in middle school (i forget what exactly it was that i thought made myself different). but in any event, owen sat right down next to me and said, after asking me what was wrong, “hey, it’s okay to be different. you know what? when i was in grade school, i was a little different too. everyone else hated math, but i… i loved it. absolutely loved it. sure, all the other kids pointed fingers and laughed at me over it, called me teacher’s pet and all, but i did my best to ignore that. all those other voices try to lower your self-worth, but it’s up to you to be diligent enough to not let those seep into your mindset and have it affect you in any way.”
and through my sniffling, i felt a thousand times better.
he put an arm around me and patted my back in supportiveness, which was simply the icing on the cake.
my eyes flashed back to in between owen and i, in the backseat of our car. yep. starla would’ve have an amazing role model to look up to. even if she’d hated math like me. she and owen would find their own things to bond over, without a doubt. like how owen and i bond over my baking, and music, and the games we used to play together in the backyard.
@elliotts-personal-property
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needleandhammer · 4 years ago
Text
Fruition
Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Female!Reader
Word Count: 6216
Summary: You're the Governor's daughter and you've caught the eye of Boston's most eligible bachelor.
Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Unprotected sex. P in v. Reader's first time having sex. Cunnilingus. Dub con. Possessive!Ransom. Sort of Dark!Ransom. Historically inaccurate. Slight breeding kink. 18+ only!
A/N: Period au. I kept the time period and nobility ranking real vague because I'm not about to research and actually world-build a mashed 19th century American colonies and Victorian period au :D It's not quite as dark!Ransom as I had intended, mostly soft. Inspired by Bridgerton, yes. And the amazing debauchery of @stargazingfangirl18 for their Soft Dark 5k challenge. Congrats and thank you for such amazing stories!
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Yet another season of balls, picnics, and courtship.
“Have you heard the news? The young Drysdale is to be named heir to the Thrombey estates.”
“That makes him heir to both Thrombey and Drysdale legacies.”
“Do you think he’s in search of a wife?”
“It’s Drysdale we’re talking about. The only thing he’s in search of is someone to warm his bed for one night.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. All that inheritance must require a wife to keep in order.”
“I wouldn’t mind warming his bed even for one night.”
“Shh! That’s scandalous!”
You heard your name and looked up to see your friend Vincenza approach. “Have you heard? Drysdale is to be—“
“Must I endure an entire evening of talk about that boorish man?”
She giggled at your complaint. “But it’s the talk of the city. Lord Thrombey has replaced his own son with his grandson as heir. And…” She glanced around, leaning close to you to whisper. “I heard that the transfer of inheritance was all due to Drysdale’s uncle’s inability to produce a child.”
Your brow folded, unsure whether such a decision was fair. “Well it’s not our business, Vinnie.”
“But that’s the thing!” Her whisper grew breathless with excitement. “It’s all of our business. Well, those of us not determined to narrow our marriage choices in the name of love.” She shook her head at you with good nature. “If Drysdale is to produce an heir, he needs a wife! It’s certain that all the available ladies of Boston will be trying to earn his favor.”
You sighed as Vinnie hooked her arm around your elbow, both of you weaving slowly through the ballroom.
It wasn’t like you weren’t used to this, hearing gossip about the infamous Drysdale son, the eldest grandson to the retired Lord Thrombey. How such a noble scholar could be related to the notorious heartbreaker sometimes stretched your comprehension. And even more ridiculous, autumn found you as Drysdale’s target for humiliation. You knew such a flirt had no intentions of settling down, yet, he had endeavored to make sure he danced with you at every ball thus far this season, and even called on you at your city townhome. You were quick to inform him that you were uninterested, yet he seemed unbothered. In fact, upon your firm rejection, Drysdale seemed to make it his goal to visit your brother as often as possible - as the two were college pals - ensuring you encountered him several times a week. Drysdale was not outright courting you, but he made his attentions evident to you. Most frustrating of all, he seemed to have a knack for cornering you under the guise of innocently keeping his friend’s sister company. It irked you that your family could not see what you saw.
You caught sight of your brother waving at you, so you led Vinnie in his direction.
Perhaps Vinnie was correct and you were closing doors that were better left open in the opulent realm of nobility courtship. Your chances of marrying for love were slim, but that didn’t mean you could not at least try to maneuver your way closer to those slim chances. Even in Boston’s ruthless high society of meddling mothers, envious debutantes, and arrogant “gentlemen.” But you were the Governor’s first-born daughter – beauty praised by all, poised and sharp, and most accomplished at a number of activities thanks to the Governor and your mother encouraging a diverse array of talents since you were young. Theirs was a happy and long marriage resulting in five children, and supported by a successful political career that you were proud to celebrate. You had no doubt that no matter the pressures of society, your parents would support you if you opposed an incompatible proposal in your search for the right person.
As long as you navigated the nobility’s courtship rituals with the wits you inherited from your own mother, there should be no reason you should lose the romantic interests of countless eligible bachelors, or heaven forbid, fall upon a scandal that may prevent a proposal of love.
Well, there was one reason you might end the season in scandal, by way of delivering a swift knee to the vulnerable private area of one particularly irritating gentleman in full public view of hundreds of good folk who have gathered to enjoy the Senator’s autumn ball. Alas, you were not going to bring that kind of shame to your parents.
The particular reason, the gentleman who irritated you so, was currently greeting your elder brother quietly, whilst his penetrating gaze remained on you. Determined not to be ruffled by his attention, you kept your shoulders back and chin high, sweeping your eyes through the crowd and dancers.
Your attention returned to your group of family and friends when your hand was captured. By him. Hugh Ransom Drysdale Thrombey.
“My, don’t you look breath-taking. It is my pleasure to get to see you tonight, Miss Y/L/N.” Drysdale’s eyes flowed down your form, and much to your chagrin, his smirk widened. No doubt the warm flush on your bare collar would be apparent to him.
You couldn’t help yourself, with those glowing azure eyes of his so clearly admiring your figure. The man was completely inappropriate.
“Yes, it surely is.” You offered a pursed barely-there smile and tugged your hand. He tightened his grip upon your fingers, raising them to meet his lips. You cursed yourself for choosing the delicate lace gloves this evening, as you felt his warm breath feather through the lace onto your skin. He deliberately kept his lips upon your fingers for longer than necessary, curved in that signature smirk.
“Mr. Drysdale, if I may have my hand back. I must obtain a beverage for my sister.”
Mischief twinkled back at you from his eyes. “Allow me to accompany you. I’m sure your brother and mother would both enjoy a drink,” he was quick to close down the objection posed on your lips.
Your brother thanked Drysdale with a clap on his shoulder and motioned for you to go on. You could only give Vinnie a frown as she preened at you with excitement. You proceeded without protest, knowing your brother’s attention was occupied, searching for a Miss Amarea Dane, whom you were certain you would welcome as sister-in-law very soon.
You smiled quietly to yourself, once again dreaming of following in your brother’s footsteps and finding a match so certain and true, so compelled by love and affection, rather than simply honor and title. To think, it had been Drysdale who had introduced the couple.
Suddenly, a man backed up straight into your path. You couldn’t avoid stumbling aside and directly into the arms of Drysdale.
“Watch yourself, Chen. Maybe go easy on the wine,” Drysdale called to the man who raised an empty glass at him with a laugh.
You attempted to straighten up, aware you were surrounded by several people and had just fallen into the embrace of Drysdale, who was notorious for seducing the city’s ladies.
“Let go,” you insisted quietly, dropping your gaze to your wrist which he held on to.
Drysdale gave you stern glance and led you close behind him, keeping his grasp on you hidden as he pulled you through the room.
When the two of you made it beyond the side entrance, you tried retrieving your hand.
“Mr. Drysdale, let go.” You had not wanted to draw attention with so many guests around you. You would die of embarrassment to allow anyone to see Drysdale’s hand on yours beyond the required polite greeting.
“Come, my lady. You cannot blame me for wishing to acquire your attention all to myself.”
“You are being most inappropriate.” You huffed as he pulled into the gardens. “Let go of me this instant.”
“So eager to return to your suitors? I’m sure I saw at least five gentleman who have called on you this month.”
“How can you know of the gentlemen who have called on me?” You dug your heels into the gravel, drawing up short when Drysdale stopped and rounded on you.
“Well, Barber makes no secret of his admiration for you. Or that idiot colonel’s son? And that Wilson fellow makes such noise at the gentlemen’s club about his intent to propose.”
You smiled at his apparent crossness. “Are you tracking my proposals? Are you requesting a fee for updating me about the intentions of my suitors?”
Drysdale stepped closer, his sharp jawline clenched. “So you’re pleased then?”
“Why shouldn’t I be?” You bit back a gasp when he tugged you forward, his hands on your waist which pressed against his front. “If you don’t let go—“
“What will you do?” His smirk returned and your fists pushed against the solid muscle of his arms. “What would you do?” He asked again, dipping his face close to yours. “If someone saw the Governor’s honorable eldest daughter, the pearl of the city, alone in the dark with a man?”
“How dare you? You better let go or my brother –“
“Would only be too happy to welcome me into the family.”
You did not miss his meaning. If you were discovered in this position by anyone, your brother would demand that your honor be redeemed by marriage to Drysdale. As handsome as the man was, you had no wish to pair the rest of your life with a man who flirted with dozens of women each season and broke just as many hearts.
“Well I am certain, sir, he would never force me to marry someone so crude as yourself. He is familiar with your outrageous behavior, so he knows you would make an ill match and I would never consent to it.” You tried leaning back from Drysdale, feeling a growl work from his chest. You couldn’t show him fear, no. You had enough of this man making your life miserable just because he was bored.
He didn’t relent, his palms flexing around your waist tighter. “You think that just because your father protects you, you are beyond the pressures, the claws of people of our standing?” He chuckled darkly. “I assure you, if it was between your happiness and ensuring your family avoids falling from grace, your parents would not hesitate to throw you to the wolves, to sacrifice your childish dreams in order to uphold their status. That’s what you’re searching for, isn’t it? Behind that pretty face are the same silly fancies as all the other girls. Dreams of love.”
“I don’t expect you to understand, so mock me all you want.” You continued struggling, determined to not back down from his burning gaze, but drawing short of breath all the same to have him so close. “Everyone knows you’re too busy fooling around and playing with women who, yes, want to find love. I only pity them for believing you have the ability to give that to them.”
He whispered your name low in warning, his voice sending a flutter down your stomach. You arranged a fierce scowl at him.
“It’s the truth. All you care about are your family’s riches and living like you have no responsibility to your community. Well, go on. Find some poor woman and give your family an heir so you can secure your fortune and continue your wild ways in comfort. But rest assured, I’d rather be thrown to wolves than end up paired with a man like you.”
Your squeak of shock was cut short when Drysdale crashed his mouth on yours. He molded your lips, swallowing your gasp as he sucked your lower lip. You felt suffocated with an intense heat blossoming from your stomach and growing further as you sensed the wet lick of his tongue.
Drysdale knew every time he pushed your buttons he got to enjoy your soft features lighting up just the way he liked; and at the same time he suffered your blatant disdain. For months he had told himself he was only after some entertainment in the form of your admittedly beautiful displeasure directed at him to liven up the droll season. Yet, here he was, unable to restrain himself from touching you, your warm smile haunting his thoughts, the silk of your skin an insufferable craving that occupied him at every hour.
You tried to twist out of his arms, but he held you pressed against him, a soft whimper from you further igniting his desire to wrap you up and make sure no other man witnessed you like this. Breathless. Vulnerable. So, so sweet, just as he imagined you would be.
You were unsure how to respond, failing to escape from his hold. So you fought back with your mouth, lips pushing against his, much to Drysdale’s delight. He barely allowed you to draw breath as he tilted his head, hand caressing the back of your neck to keep you close, quickly sneaking his tongue into the hot cavern of your mouth. He felt you tremble at his invasion, your hands gripping his jacket. He opened his eyes, appreciating the moon’s gleam on your cheek, your lashes fluttering. Despite your drawn brow, he could tell you were no longer opposed to his ministrations. He groaned when your tongue whirled against his.
It was the familiar quiver in your core that struck you and had you thrashing until you had pushed Drysdale away. You could not allow this man to awaken desires within you. You covered your mouth, panting, feeling tears sting your eyes.
You heard your name from him.
“Don’t!” You kept your face hidden with a hand, as though you could hide what had just happened. “Don’t every come near me again, Drysdale.”
“You can’t mean that.”
You stepped back before he could reach you. “I’m sorry. I am to call you Thrombey now, correct? You’ve inherited a title and doubled your worth. Well, don’t for one second think that makes me care for you.”
You rushed out of the garden, praying he wouldn’t catch up. Drysdale breathed deep. Your words stung him.
He shook himself, making a vow. Darling, you’re not getting away from me.
------------------
No, no, this could not be happening. It was still early in the day and your life was ruined. Or, it would be very soon.
“If you don’t accept my proposal, I will ensure that the whole city hears about your little moonlight tryst with Drysdale. We all know he’s not the type to step up for a woman’s honor. So you’ll be left with a scandal and no further suitors, you can be sure of it.”
That was the threat from Mr. Mildred, the colonel’s son who creeped on the edges of parties and was known to mistreat the help of his household.
You couldn’t stand the thought of marrying Mildred. Yet, what were your options? Your parents would heed your wishes, but the shame of a scandal would be hard for your family to recover from. You father’s reelection might even be impacted. Boston may be a modern city but progress was slow when it came to the rules of courtship amongst upper social circles. And your marriage prospects, well, very few bachelors would come calling once they heard you described as a loose woman.
It had been too much to hope that no one witnessed what happened in the garden.
You stood, restless and angry with yourself. How could you have melted into Drysdale’s touch? That was just as agonizing to you as Mildred’s words. Ever since you first met Drysdale, heard of his leisurely bachelor ways and his aversion to marriage and family, you had vowed to never fraternize with anyone of his nature. He was everything you did not want for a stable, loving family and spouse.
So many months, you had been forced to hear him mock you with pleasantries, intrude on your homely comforts, charm your mother and sisters, monopolize your brother’s time. And yet. His broad form hovering close to you as you practiced pianoforte. His many glances with those sky blue eyes during park strolls. The low purr of his voice that followed you into your dreams. Drysdale had managed to worm his way into your subconscious. At one point, you had thought he was tolerable, kind, and perhaps capable of sincerity; but that night in the garden had shown you his true colors.
Two days later, you fared no better. Your mother summoned you into the parlor, sharing that she had encountered Mr. Mildred at a tea party and he mentioned a dreadful whisper he believed to be about you and a gentleman together without chaperones in the Senator’s garden.
Had Mildred run out of patience already? Your mother’s tight frown was your answer. You apologized profusely, tears escaping as you tried to hold yourself together in the presence of someone you had sworn never to disappoint.
Apparently, Mildred informed your mother that such a whisper had not spread far, but he could not be certain of preventing its spread.
You were interrupted by the house maid, bringing a letter to your mother informing of a dinner visit.
The rest of your day, your head ached with the decision you had to make. Drysdale would not be affected by the gossip but you would not remain unscathed for long. Even with the respect your father received as Governor, your prospects grew slimmer than ever. Yet you could not accept a sacred vow of lifelong marriage to the conniving Mildred.
And Drysdale, well, you told yourself you would not entertain the idea. You had rejected his advances once already. You told yourself he had only courted you to add to his conquests and he only continued to antagonize you to alleviate his boredom.
It wasn’t until you entered the dining room that you realized your mother’s dinner guests were the Drysdales, including Lord Thrombey. You lowered yourself into a seat next to your sister, forcing a smile at Lady Drysdale before her strident tones returned to a conversation with your mother. Movement to your other side prompted you, but your smile fell flat to see Ransom Drysdale beside you. He only nodded to you, though you caught his eyes glinting with purpose before he turned to your brother.
It was halfway through dinner that Drysdale made the announcement. He had requested your father’s permission and was proposing to you this very night.
You scarcely noted your two families’ reactions, excusing yourself from the table and winding up in the dimly lit back yard of your home.
“Why?” you asked as soon as you heard footsteps behind you. Turning to Drysdale, you demanded, “Why are you doing this?”
He watched you, eyes dark and framed by thick lashes. His jaw tensed and then he stepped up to you, looking down at you.
“As you said. I have to earn my inheritance. I need an heir for my grandfather. For that to happen, I need a wife.”
You shook your head, his words striking at your heart.
“You’ll do just fine, I suppose,” he finished.
“No!” You shoved at his chest, barely swaying him. “You don’t get to do this. This is my life.”
“I heard what Mildred was going to do,” he said, swallowing hard. “If I didn’t propose, you’d have to marry him. Or –“
“I would deal with the gossip however I see fit! How could you come to my home and propose in front of our entire families. How could you—“
He wrapped his hands around your biceps, dragging you close. “You can’t say no.”
Helpless, you could only silently deny his ruthless words with an anguished shake of your head.
“You can’t say no to me. No matter what you tell yourself about how merciful your lovely society friends will be. We both know if you don’t accept my proposal…” He glanced away with a chuckle before eying you, his grin cocky, sneering. “And don’t even bother thinking you might escape from this by actually marrying Mildred. He’ll back off as soon as he hears the new Lord Thrombey has proposed. Either way, looks like you’re not going to the wolves.”
One hand grasped your neck and jaw, drawing your lips to his. He could sigh with relief. He had not been able to rest ever since tasting you.
“Drysdale –“
“Ransom,” he whispered, rubbing his lips to yours before reclaiming them in a deeper kiss that consumed all of your senses. You couldn’t gather your wits to question how he managed to force all thoughts from your mind. Surely your anger was the source of the sparks lit in your breast as you felt his tongue sweep into your mouth roughly. You sagged against him. Ransom’s lips released you, trailing along your skin.
“Call me Ransom.” His order came firm as he dropped kisses down the corner of your mouth to your ear. It pained him to be the cause of your tears, but he would be damned if he let that weasel Mildred sully your name, or get to twist his fingers in your dark tresses, learn your curves, taste your lips. No, Ransom would be your villain.
“R-Ransom,” you gasped out, so aware of his body heat rolling against you, his thick arms encircling you.
“Accept my proposal.” He knew he had crushed his very slight chances of being on the receiving end of your kind heart, forcing your hand like this.
He pressed his forehead to yours, warm hands framing either side of your face. His thumbs stroked away your tears, and you were struck by the earnest plea in his eyes.
"Alright."
He took a deep breath and stepped back from you, his face a cool mask. "Let us inform our families."
This may be another game to him, an easy means to an end. For you, it wasn’t a choice.
--‐-------------------------------------------------------------------------
You made it through your short engagement and overly grand wedding by devoting your entire energy to convincing your family that you were the eager, blushing bride. You offered minimal answers as your dear sister asked about how Drysdale – no, how Ransom had claimed your heart. You dutifully picked out wedding bouquets with your mother and responded to the well wishes of your father’s friends.
All the while, your busy schedule served as an excuse to avoid your groom-to-be. With middling success. Now that he had claimed your hand, and more, proved your dreams were all for naught, he couldn’t resist reminding you to your face how naïve you had been. Worse, he took advantage of his status as your fiancé.
He took the opportunity at every lunch to sit close to you and toss that triumphant smirk your way. He invited you to the park with your family, leading you ahead and lacing his fingers through yours as he put on a show of holding you steady upon the walkways. He played the love-struck bachelor, dragging you between the far shelves of your father’s library and exploring your mouth with a frenzy that left you dizzy. Your resistance was no match for his determination to overpower you, to flaunt his victory. Yet, you could almost see the arrogant curl of his mouth morphing with each kiss as his eyes softened. And each time, you grew more hopeless - conflicted - as his touch grew familiar, satisfying a part of you which you could not control. You were truly out of your depth when it came to Ransom.
It mattered not. You could not take back your word. The Governor’s daughter that you were so proud to be could not collapse in your own despair. As far as anyone was concerned, you and Ransom had both discovered an unlikely, passionate love for one another and wished very badly to wed.
You should have been exhausted after the early day of wedding celebration you had endured with Ransom, the incomparably handsome and gallant groom. And after many hours riding out to Halifax, the Thrombey country home. Your new home.
But a new challenge was upon you this late night - your wedding night. At least, that had been your sole problem up until Ransom had deposited you in your marital chamber and excused himself. You had absentmindedly, nervously, glided around the room to admire the woodwork. Only to notice a parchment corner peeking from the drawer of an antique desk. Which led you to open the drawer and pluck at the papers with your name upon them.
The pearl of the city. An apt title, yet it fails to define your beauty, Y/N���
…Is it a gift or a curse that I should be visited with visions of your sweet face as I sleep…
Barry speaks highly of you, his sister, and your affinity for family, your desire for a true love. A shame that such an exquisite soul should be beyond my grasp. No, I have earned this torture. I could never deserve you, nor offer you what you deserve…
So many lines speaking of admiration for your character, yearning to learn what would be worthy of your affections, admissions that you were too sweet, too good to be burdened with him. Words hinting of curiosity, of desire for a future with you, a family unlike the one he grew up with.
…I can only laugh at myself for daring to dream God might have mercy on me and lead me into your arms, and lead us to the dreams you and I share…
The sound of the door swinging open had you looking up to meet Ransom’s gaze. He slowed in his entrance, seeing the pile you clasped in hand.
“Those are mine,” he said, voice tight. His hands curled with your big eyes shining upon him full of question.
“My name is on them. They’re mine,” you countered.
“Forget them,” he commanded. “They are only…”
“Fancies? Silly dreams of…love?” you asked. “You’re a talented writer.” You smiled seeing his flushed cheeks, his averted, shy grimace.
“I used to sit with my grandfather for long hours. Reading. Discussing stories.”
“Did your grandfather also help you practice writing love letters?”
He smiled without mirth. “No. I figured I wanted to make a fool of myself so I documented foolish musings.”
You closed the distance between you. Your face was uplifted, beseeching Ransom to meet your eyes. He could not ignore your presence, attention intense on him and almost more than he could bear.
“Is there truth in these words?” you asked quietly, careful not to spook this man, this loud, cocky man who had presented you with such a convincing disdain for anything sincere.
“It does not matter.”
“It matters. Because you chose me.” You pressed your fingertips to his lip, stopping his protest. Ransom closed his eyes for moment, barely believing you were touching him of your own will. He breathed in your perfume, disoriented by your proximity, your discovery. “Why did you never…?”
“Because I’ve always known such things were childish. My own parents proved to me a long time ago love has little value in a family.”
You shook your head in protest of such cynicism. But the bitter turn of his mouth reminded you of various instances in his family's presence - his parent's demand for recognition and power, his uncle scoffing at expressions of kindness.
“Because I felt foolish for even wanting something different. You were right. Anyone would be lucky to avoid me and my family. We’re a sham. There’s nothing beneath the surface for my parents and they’ve taught me well.”
“There’s more,” you insisted.
“Well then I’m a coward because I can’t bring myself to go in search for more. You were right. I am content with my family’s fortune. I would have been fine growing old alone, but I had to trap you with me. Now, you won’t achieve your marriage of love, your desire for a warm family.”
You cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. “I was the coward.” You drew him down, closing your eyes and pressing your foreheads together. “I saw more in you, but I was afraid. Afraid of risking my heart, afraid I might achieve the very thing that I have been yearning for.”
He whispered your name. You hushed him.
“Tell me. Do you truly love me?”
His breath feathered against your lips. “I love you.” There was such a raw vulnerability in his confession.
“Then that is all that matters. You and I will build the family we dreamed of. I promise.”
Like your vow had snipped him loose of his control, he yanked you in and kissed you hard.
“Be mine,” he murmured between sucks of your lips, drinking you in. “Give me all of you, and I swear, love, I’ll be your family. I’ll give you anything.”
You believed him. Cupped his head in yearning. “Yes. Yes, Ransom.”
His hands tugged impatiently at your gown, dragging the outer layers down. Long fingers pulled at your skirts. You worked at undoing his vest and shirt. Your hands trembled to feel his bare skin, the tickle of chest hair and such warmth emanating against you as he drew you close. You gasped to feel his hands squeezing your curves through your thin shift, seeking with greed for more. He walked you both to the bed and placed you in the middle, laid out for him as he had dreamt for months.
His touch dipped under your shift, setting your heart racing. As his mouth danced lower, he growled, tearing the top of your shift to expose your bare tits and mouth hungrily at them. You couldn’t stop wriggling, clutching around his neck and shoulders, arching up to his tongue that flicked a nipple before sucking.
“I’ve wanted you so long. Want to taste you.”
Before you knew it, you felt him panting at the delicate flesh between your legs, no article of clothing remotely hiding your body from him. He stopped you from closing your thighs, fingertips bruising as he held you open and licked broad stripes at your sex. You had never imagined such sensations, such a heat as Ransom so thoroughly pulled you apart with his mouth.
He watched through his lashes as you writhed, testing what you enjoyed most. His tongue teased at your entrance and then breached you to lash your inner walls. Your sharp cry had him groaning as his hard cock begged for friction. Your gasps bordered on sobs and he needed to see you fall off that edge.
His lips closed around your increasingly wet petals, shaking his head back and forth and sucking hard. When his teeth scraped your clit, your mouth froze open, your back arched off the bed and locked in feverish pleasure. Your rapture pulsed through you as he pressed his tongue flat to your throbbing bud.
“Darling, look at you.” How glorious you looked, soft and panting. Ransom climbed forward to kiss you, sharing the earthy tang of your pleasure. You hummed into his mouth, still drifting in a hazy cloud.
“Look at me, love,” he whispered. You opened your eyes. He watched you, lust and joy burning in his gaze. “You’re mine.”
You nuzzled his nose, whispered, “I’m yours.” Your breath left you as his cock, thick and insistent, pressed into you, pushing in and in until you felt nothing but full.
His lips never stopped kissing your face, your jaw, your mouth. As if he could tell the very instant the sting receded for you, Ransom moved, thrusting shallow. You found yourself wrapped around him, clinging as you had never been so desperate for another person before.
His moans and grunts joined you as he sped up. Everything he was doing, his hips clapping your thighs, his weight caging you, rekindled the thrill in you, the pleasure mounting more when he managed to slide his hand between you and swipe at your clit. You keened, unable to beg him to finish you off, but you knew he would do it. Knew he wouldn’t stop. His mouth sucked at your neck and he angled his thrust just so. You were lost to the world, grinding up against Ransom, chasing the pleasure that crackled from your core. Ransom nearly crushed you to the mattress as his rhythm rose to a frantic end and he released his seed through his swelling cock to fill you.
Your name rasped from him as he ground his hips into you with the instinctual need to ram his seed into your womb.
Long hours later, after Ransom’s need to claim you again resulted in multiple releases for you both, when you had caught your breath, you let him wind his naked form around yours.
You drifted off to his sleepy murmurs of, “I’m yours.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
A month later and Ransom maintained firm control of your attentions, both mental and physical. He seemed intent on desecrating every room of the vast country home. One afternoon, the two of you had toured the family’s art collection. He had lured you into an alcove to view a Verocchio sculpture. You ended up with his face buried between your legs under the sculpture’s shadow, biting your fist to quiet your moans as Ransom’s tongue thrust into you. Right before you came, he slipped out from your skirts, bunching them at your waist and pushing you up against the wall. Your faced pressed into his neck with relief to feel his cock stretch you. Opened you up with rough jolts as your legs drew tight around him. His hips snapped urgently, quickly blazing flames within you until your explosive climax overwhelmed you. He fucked you until he came, biting your shoulder as he rutted hard to push his release deep into you, until you were overfilled and his spend seeped out and trailed between the two of you to mix with your own juices.
Tonight, his desire for you was unrestrained. Already, he had kissed and licked what seemed like every inch of your skin. Your release dripped from you and into his greedy mouth latched to your folds as you came down from your high, tugging his dark locks of hair.
“Ransom, please.”
“Yes, love?” His lips grazed a path up your stomach, then up between your breasts littered with red love bites. He rubbed his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.
“Need to feel you.”
Ransom grinned. He pulled you upward, lifting and turning you so you rested in his lap with your shoulder blades meeting his chest dusted with fine hair. You arched your back, feeling his hard, leaking cock so hot against your skin. His fingers combed your hair aside, mouth nipping and kissing from your neck to your shoulder.
His hand cupped your sex, groaning at the soaked heat of you. He guided you, lifting up just enough to run the sensitive head of his cock through your folds. Your whine forced more precum to dribble from his slit. He could resist no longer, his cock splitting you open as he drew you down upon his lap until he was buried to the hilt in your tight heat. Soft curses met your ears. You bit your lip, grinding back and forth. Ransom squeezed your waist, held you still.
“Ransom…”
Damned, how he loved the sound of his name falling from you, needy and wrecked from pleasure. And still wanting more of him. He couldn’t begin to guess how someone like him could deserve your affections and loyalty. Good thing he was a greedy bastard, unrepentant of his actions that had blessed his home and bed with you.
Shivers wracked your spine when he cooed at you with his gravelly tone. “You want me, love?”
“Want you so bad.”
He smirked at your whimper when he swirled his groin slow beneath you. His tongue teased along your earlobe, driving a plea from you.
“Want you, Ransom. Oh, please.”
“And you’ll give me what I desire, yes? Will you, love?”
You managed jerky nods, choking when he slid agonizingly slow from your cunt and pushed back into you. Only to stop and hold himself there, speared maddeningly in you.
His breath tickled your ear. “You, love, are going to give me a baby. Yes?”
He drove his hips up, drawing a moan from you.
“Isn’t that right, darling?”
“Y-yes…Rans…ah” You stuttered with his deep, hard strokes.
“Is that what you want? Hm? Big, beautiful family with me?”
“Yes.” Your response rushed out, breathy.
“Love you. Want to fill you up over and over.”
You whined loud, his words and the drag of his thick cock inside you driving you crazy.
“Because you’re mine. You’re all mine.” His hand curled over yours, pressing your palm and fingers to your core where the two of you were joined beneath dark curls. “Feel that?”
“Oh god.” You surely felt what he wanted you to. His steely member claiming you again and again.
“Yes, feel me and you? This.” He kept your hand there, feeling every push and pull of his cock, from inside and out, so you couldn’t escape him. “Feel how you belong to me? All of you. You’re mine forever.”
“I’m yours….” You cried out as his rhythm sped up. “Ransom!”
You threw your head back, both yours and his fingers circling the nub of your inflamed clit, his harsh breaths beating against your neck as his words blended.
“Mine,” he grunted.
Your pleasure burst like a dam, your release splashed and squirted out, then throbbed with his relentless touch. The wave spread outward, tensing your muscles, buzzing upon your skin. Feeling you squeeze and flutter around him drove Ransom to the brink until all he could think of was filling you, rooting his seed into you so you grew soft and big with his child. You were the beginning and finish of his everything.
Ransom couldn’t stop himself. His strokes grew uneven but remained deep, hard, determined. His arm wrapped around you tight as he launched you both forward, driving you onto your hands and knees so he could rut as deep as possible. You moaned, overcome with the hot rush of his seed filling you and his cock pounding it deeper into you.
You both settled into the bed with tangled limbs, slowing your breaths and the ache of desire. Your toes curled, enjoying the pressure of his cock nestled in you still, content that you both were looking forward to your first child. To a family all your own.
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lux-i-fer · 3 years ago
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I would choose to be with you (as if the choice were mine to make)
Ao3 link
Synopsis: SPOILERS FOR S5B: Instead of going to Heaven after opening his door in Hell, Dan ends up somewhere he could have never imagined. Or: 5 times Dan tries to appear as a ghost to his friends and family and one time he manages to do a little more.
Rating: G
Notes: Hey guys!! I know I haven't written anything for god knows how long and this probably wasn't what you wanted me to work on, but I guess that's how it goes. Don't worry, I haven't abandoned my zombie John fic, it's just on hold while I find my creative motivation, sorry ;) This fic was inspired by So It Goes (the Marianas Trench version). I should have the other chapters up fairly quickly (like within the week). I'm not having year-long update gaps on a 5+1 fic. This is not betaed because apparently I cannot bring myself to care :)) I'm sorry if this sucks lol
Dan stared at his reflection in Chloe’s bathroom mirror. He had only been in her apartment bathroom once or twice when he’d been alive, and it almost felt like an intrusion to stand here now, watching her do her makeup at the vanity. Next to his haggard self, Chloe looked beautiful. She always looked beautiful. But perhaps it was the life thrumming through her veins that made her skin look especially vibrant and her eyes warm with an inner fire that Dan had learned after his death only the mortal living seemed to possess.
Dan’s eyes had always been dark, even when he was alive. Sometimes his tía used to tell him that God must have sculpted them from the very earth that birthed Adam and welcomed a felled Abel. It was meant to be a complement, but more than once Dan had found himself begging for penance for his flat, discarded ashtray-bottoms for eyes.
Back then, Dan was sure there was a little bit of devil in those eyes. Now, staring at the husk of a body barely clinging to the blunt corners of his soul, Dan knew better. There wasn’t anything behind the two holes bored into his skull. Just as there was nothing behind the equally lifeless face they belonged to.
Dan watched as Chloe drew her hair up into a ponytail. If he took a step to his right, her elbow would brush his shoulder on its way into taming her golden locks. But he stood rooted to the spot, lingering just out of her reach. His visits to Earth always ended like this--with his family moving on with their lives and Dan being forced to play the impassive observer.
It wasn’t like Dan had much of a choice. He still wasn’t quite sure how to control where and when he appeared on Earth. In fact, he wasn’t quite sure if this even was Earth at all. For all he knew Dan was still in Hell. It sure felt like Hell at times. Even if he had gone through the door, his door, the one that kept Charlotte sputtering and coughing all over his jacket and repeatedly cursing his name, Dan felt like he’d never left. If he had truly escaped, he could reach out and zip up the back of Chloe’s dress instead of having to watch her struggle alone with the zipper stuck stubbornly between her shoulder blades.
Dan’s lips curled into something resembling disgust. He felt like such a pervert, staring at his ex-wife getting dressed in the bathroom with her none the wiser. Dan was familiar with this feeling. Since his death, emotions were hard to come by and even harder to identify. Hell’s atrocities, and perhaps life’s as well, had left him hollowed out and numb. Nothing more than a limp corpse, cursed to be reanimated and tugged around through the ether like a piece of garbage caught in the undertow of some vast ocean.
In spite of his disgust, Dan always found himself unable to tear his gaze away from whomever he appeared for. This time was no different.
Chloe finally wrangled the zipper up to the base of her neck where it belonged. With a satisfied huff, she moved on to shuffle through a vanity drawer, pulling out a tube of mascara. Her figure obscured Dan’s in the mirror as she leaned over the sink to brush it onto her lashes, leaving Dan no choice but to watch her careful ministrations.
Yet again, Dan was struck by her beauty. Every flick of her wrist, every deft swipe of her fingers across her skin, smoothing smile lines and stray hairs alike, looked effortless. Even in his final moments, Dan hadn’t felt as light as Chloe looked at that moment.
It was times like these when Dan wished he had fought harder for his life, instead of letting the weight of his grief suffocate and damn him to eternal unrest. He wondered if he had fought, if he had managed to cling to his miserable mortality, would he have gotten this? Would he have moved on from Chloe and from Charlotte? It was obvious that Chloe was getting dressed up for a date or a night out; could Dan have had that? Could he have been happy like Chloe was now, with a new ring on her finger and a smile stashed away for the man who undoubtedly put it there? He supposed he’d never know.
Dan had given up on dreaming of such things long ago in the depths of Hell. The problem with wanting was that sometimes you actually got what you wished for. But as with everything else in Hell, desires had a way of morphing into nightmares. Dan was tired of nightmares. He’d always had them, even when he was still living. Turning to the church like his tía had suggested had never helped. Instead, as a boy Dan had found solace in reading. He had liked the modern classics--McCarthy, Capote, Hemingway--but his favorite had always been Vonnegut.
In Hell, the words of Vonnegut had helped him numb the pain of his eternal torture. He had repeated those coveted words from Slaughterhouse Five so many times that the words might as well be seared onto his tongue.
So it goes.
That was what he told himself. The first time Charlotte appeared in his Hell loop. So it goes. The first time he watched Malcolm kidnap Trixie. So it goes. The first time he found Chloe choking on her own blood under Palmetto Street. So it goes. Every dizzying cycle of guilt and abuse, he forced his response to remain the same. So it goes.
Dan had told himself those words until they became a part of him. Until he could detach himself from his guilt long enough to yank open the door, away from that hell and straight into a new one. If Dan had only known what lurked on the other side of that door, perhaps he would have never opened it. Better the devil he knew, right? At least he could anticipate what was coming in his cell in Hell. Here, adrift through space and time, Dan never knew what to expect. Sometimes that was the worst kind of torture.
In the mirror, Chloe’s reflection put the finishing touches on her makeup. Dan tried to move out of her way as she stepped away from the vanity to examine her work, but he found himself rooted to the spot. Instead of hitting his chest and severing his connection to this plane, Chloe simply slipped right through it. Still, Dan braced for the disappearing act that was sure to follow as it did with every other person who managed to touch him, yet it never came.
Her eyes instantly snapped to his in the mirror. The hope that he saw within their depths was sickening. Even so, every fiber of his being stilled. The room had suddenly become cold as Dan let himself indulge in her foolish hopes. How Chloe knew to look in that specific direction, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to waste time trying to figure it out. Dan tried to force his tongue from where it was cemented to the roof of his mouth. What he would he say, he did not know, but he knew it was important to say something. Anything.
But words did not come. Instead, Chloe’s form began to fuzz over as he had anticipated before, and Dan felt himself being dragged back into the cold ether. For the first time, Dan struggled against the ghastly fingers of shadow. He wanted to stay. Chloe had felt him, she had seen him. He needed to tell her--what? That he missed her? That he had tried to hold on, had tried to cling to life, even if death seemed intent on feasting on his soul? The questions swirled around his head, knocking into long-dead synapses and the spent pieces of himself he had cast aside in the face of his demise. For the first time since his death, Dan felt more than just a hollowed out shell of himself.
Before he could find the power to utter those words, the vision of Chloe and the vanity faded entirely, leaving him staring at the vast black nothing.
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apageinthecastle · 3 years ago
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A Quarantined Reunion: Chapter three - Ghost Stories
Frank and Karen find themselves stuck with each other for longer than expected, and a memory Frank thought he had buried resurfaces to pull him from the moment.
Good morning, sleepyhead.
Frank woke with a start, Maria’s voice still ringing in his ears. Sitting up, he turned on the single, shadeless lamp beside his couch, the light harsh in the dark of the apartment. The sun wasn’t up yet. Grateful to have slept on the couch (undeniably for the proximity to the coffee maker) he shuffled into the kitchen, tossing the now-empty apple pie container and crumpled burger foil in the trash. He had eaten the cheeseburger while mulling over the fragmented conversation from the night before, stitching the silences together and getting nowhere. With Karen taking the rest of her thoughts and answers to bed with her, he had decided sometime around midnight that it had still been an apple pie kind of day, after all.
He filled Max’s food dish, shaking it a little before starting the coffee maker. From the time Frank had adopted the pit bull, he’d had to rustle any food in his dish to get the dog to eat. Maybe it was something left over from Max’s time with the Kitchen Irish, where Frank knew he had been mistreated. Maybe it was just that he was trained to wait to eat. Whatever the reason, it was a welcome part of their morning routine. He was grateful for Max’s company - after dropping him off at New York Bully Crew, Frank had imagined the pit bull happily adopted by some well-off family, maybe with kids… still, when he had returned to the shelter for work as part of his arrangement with the CIA and found Max still there, there was some relief in knowing he was able to readopt him and provide some semblance of a home.
It wasn’t until the first sip of his second cup of coffee that the Marine turned to the window, nearly dropping the mug at the sight of the mountain of snow already collected on the outer sill.
He’d have to get a whole damn pie delivered.
It was only a few minutes later that a messy-haired Karen made her way out from the bedroom. She adjusted the ace bandage wrapped around her wrist, more out of nervous habit than anything else. Beginning with every intention of saying good morning to Frank, the blonde froze in place when she saw the amount of snow that had built up. Oh, no.
Keeping their distance in the apartment had been reasonable last night. Social distancing hadn’t been perfect - he had carried her back to his place, for Christ’s sake - but it was enough that all things considered, she had felt comfortable with the idea of leaving his apartment in search of her own.
Seeing that snow, knowing there would be no hope of leaving during it…
Damn it.
Good morning long forgotten, she turned to him. “Please tell me there’s coffee.”
He nodded absently and slowly turned back to the kitchen with a resigned sigh, muttering under his breath. “Not enough in the world for this day.”
If Karen heard him, she had no audible response. It was probably for the best - they were both under-caffeinated, and, judging by the look on her face as his eyes flicked over to look, licking their wounds from the night before. To say he felt bad was an understatement; guilt was something that came easily to him, especially when it was for good reason. Max, having emptied his bowl already, nudged at Frank’s twitching fingers with his nose, bringing him back into the moment.
“Mugs are in the cupboard beside the fridge. You hungry?”
Karen shook her head, walking to the kitchen silently. She was, in reality, but she wasn’t about to start asking Frank Castle for more than she had to right now, and coffee, well that was non-negotiable. She reached into the cupboard for the mug, pulling it down and pouring herself a cup. She’d stopped taking milk and sugar in her coffee long ago - just one of many things tossed away from her time in Vermont and college.
She leaned against the counter, blowing down into the mug for a few seconds before taking a sip. She looked up at him, studying him. So much of him was different - well, not different so much as the near present sight of injury she’d come to expect was gone - but so, so much of him was exactly the same. Grimacing against a larger gulp of coffee than intended, she let out a quiet sigh.
“I’m guessing if I try and walk out that door right now to go home, you’re not going to let me.”
He bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling. “You’d be ankle-deep in that shit, but if you’re that determined, be my guest.”
It took about thirty seconds for her to drain the cup of coffee before she started slipping her shoes on. Did the walk home sound pleasant? Not at all. Did she want to be trapped in an apartment with him for two weeks once they could no longer reasonably argue against quarantining together? Absolutely not. Seeing him last night, waking up to him this morning, well. It had been hard enough on her. She didn’t know if she was capable of spending two weeks living as the choice he didn’t want to make.
“Y-- Ah, Jesus, Karen, don’t be ri-- think about it.” He set his coffee mug aside and rolled his eyes, starting towards her. “It’s freezing out there, alright, the snow is up to your ass. How far do you really think you’re gonna get in those shoes, huh?”
“Far enough.” He had enough of a point to give her pause, though. Another sigh escaped her lips and she stood there, shifting her weight. “You realize if I stay, we’re going to be stuck here together for two weeks, right? You really want that?” It took everything in her to ignore the part that was hoping he would say yes.
If we’re not stuck here for two weeks, already, Frank thought as he considered a response. The damn parameters for what was considered close contact or what prompted mandatory isolation had probably changed another five times since they’d gone to sleep. He drained his coffee mug and refilled it before managing an answer for the annoyed blonde in front of him.
“Seems like a better idea than you freezing to death or getting hit by some asshole who forgets how to drive in this shit.” It was a conscious effort to let her make the decision for herself.
Her fingers found her hair and she shook her head the tiniest bit as she considered. “You know what, why not?” came the exasperated response. She stepped back out of her heels, disbelieving even of herself. In what world had she just signed herself up for two weeks of torture? Apparently, this one.
“You’re going to have to learn to share your kitchen if I’m going to be here for two weeks.”
The visible battle to stop the smile tugging at the corner of his lips was lost, the evidence quickly hidden behind a coffee mug. Share his kitchen, huh? He couldn't remember the last time he had.
Right on cue, mid-morning memories of that day with his family flooded Frank's mind, springing free from their box. That Last Day. He thought he had thrown away the damn key. He gripped the coffee mug in his hands as, for a moment, he was transported to the kitchen in the home he'd turned to dust. The lazy sun of early April poured in through the window, bathing the edges of Maria's hair and skin in warmth. She was making breakfast. Frank Jr. was pestering his sister, begging her to teach him another of the nonsensical rhymes, swapping their juice cups when she wasn't looking. The earthy, bright smell of coffee wafted through the air. Frank had reached for the loaf of bread, intent on helping his wife. He remembered laughing, shaking his head as she lightly slapped his hand away with the spatula, oily from cooking eggs. She had flashed a breathtaking, mischievous smile that had nearly brought Frank to his knees. There was no sharing a kitchen with Maria Castle.
"We'll see about that," he breathed, as the memory dissolved. He found himself flexing his fingers, still feeling the rubber end of the utensil against them.
Karen was polite enough not to pry. A specific look told her better - the look that said his thoughts were no longer here with her for a moment, but years in the past when his family had still been alive. Hearing stories from that period of his life had always been few and far between, and it was something that had always come up naturally. Well, aside from the early days when she’d been crossing police lines and shoving stolen photographs in his face. Not her finest moments.
It was that look on his face once again that made the blonde want to reach out, to rest her hand against his arm in their old familiar comforts. Words had never been the way they communicated with each other, not really. Glances and the smallest of touches… she shook her head to clear it, taking a deep breath and nodding. Even after two years, she knew when he was deflecting, and she knew when to let it go.
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highladyluck · 4 years ago
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Stealing Is The Way To Mat Cauthon’s Heart
This is intended to be part 1 of a series of essays elaborating on how “Tuon is Mat’s Replacement Shadar Logoth Dagger”.
In this one, I talk about the parallels between Mat’s free choices (both theft) and how they shape his narrative. (The title for this was almost “Book 1: Steal An Evil Magic Knife; Book 10: Steal An Evil Magic Wife” but I restrained myself. Sort of.)
Mat's two thefts- of the Shadar Logoth Dagger, and of Tuon, the Daughter of the Nine Moons- are his most thematically significant free choices in the series, and they both result in Mat falling in love. It's fairly clear that stealing the Shadar Logoth dagger is Mat's first thematically significant free choice in the series. I don't think Mat freely chose to leave the Two Rivers, at least not in the same sense that Egwene did; Egwene wasn't putting anyone in danger by staying, and she invited herself along, which is not the case for the boys, who were essentially leaving under duress.
But even if you count leaving as a free choice, it's not thematically significant for Mat the way that stealing the Shadar Logoth dagger is. It's very clearly Mat's choice to explore Shadar Logoth, Mat's choice driving the boys to follow Mordeth to the treasure, Mat's choice to take the treasure despite the clear risk that has the other boys literally dragging him out of the treasure room.
It's possible that Rand telling him Min's viewing of him, which involves the ruby dagger, influences Mat to pick it up once he sees it. However, at that point he's still willingly choosing to do that. If he's thinking about his 'fate'- which he may or may not be- he's thinking 'well, that dagger looks great and it's meant for me, sign me up!' It's the first (and last) time he's ever really excited about a free choice he makes regarding his fate. Which kind of makes sense, given that the consequences of the one free choice he was happy about haunt Mat for the rest of the story, in the form of personality change, memory loss, supernatural luck, and the specific shape of his future place in the Pattern.
While Mat makes further choices in the following books, they're all under duress of one kind or another and I wouldn't characterize them as 'free'. Mat doesn't go into the twisted stone ter'angreal in Tear until he thinks it's the creepy magic doorway or his life, ta'verenness is literally preventing him from saying things or tugging him in Rand's direction and putting him under Rand’s power, etc. Even all of Mat's rescues (and let's face it, they're all characterized as rescues for Mat, you won't see him putting his ass in danger otherwise) are (according to Mat) done under duress in that Mat feels compelled to save people, against his 'better judgement'. Are they actually free choices? Yeah, I think so. Does Mat want to think of them as a choice he’s deliberately making? Apparently not, so I don’t count them as a free choice either.
Mat is constantly propelled around by his instincts and his physical reactions; he doesn't make decisions, he reacts. The more he fights his fate, the faster he gets sucked in. He's not so much making choices as flailing around wildly trying to survive. Admittedly, 'flailing around wildly trying to survive' does eventually become a deliberate and calculated strategy for Mat, but not until the Tower of Ghenji, and possibly also in the Last Battle, which are both post-marriage.
Deciding to steal Tuon from the Tarasin Palace, then, is the first free choice Mat makes since the dagger, and it is deeply thematically significant. Mat makes the decision to take her with him- when he could have stashed her in the stable overnight- *because* he decides to accept his fate of eventually being married to her. He decides to take on the responsibility/path he's been dreading (a very different choice from his other free choice, which was "I want to do something fun!") And you can tell he's accepted his fate because his thoughts change from 'how can I get out of this?' to 'how can I make the best of this?' By changing his perspective, he opens his mind to other changes, like falling in love. This happens naturally as he spends more time with Tuon, but it all flows from that first choice to steal her away.
And Mat falling in love after he makes a thematically significant free choice and has a perspective shift is a pattern. It's easy to see that Mat falls in love with Tuon, because we're in his head and we see him start describing her features in very flattering ways, we see him muse about how much he enjoys making her happy, we see his anger and fear when she's in danger. But this is not, in fact, the only romantic relationship Mat has had. This is not the only time we've caught Mat gazing lovingly at beautiful details, or enjoying spending time with the object of his affections, or freaking out when something threatens his beloved. And I'm not talking about Melindhra, and I'm certainly not talking about Tylin; Mat didn't consider himself in a relationship with either of them, and he wasn't in love with them. That's right, I'm talking about Mat and his feelings for the Shadar Logoth dagger.
To be clear, I'm not saying Mat wants to bone the dagger. (Padan Fain, another known dagger associate, is absolutely knifesexual, but I am willing to believe that is one of many Just Padan Fain Things, like being besties with Machin Shin or tying Myrddraal to trees.) However, Mat was *absolutely* in love with his sexy evil Shadar Logoth dagger, like to the point of whispering sweet nothings to it (paranoid ramblings = sweet nothings, if you're a sexy evil dagger.) It was of course a toxic and abusive relationship, complete with many abortive breakup attempts before Mat finally escapes, but it has strong shades of romantic obsession and it changed Mat's perspective on the world and how he interacted with it.
Mat even gets a truly alarming number of rebound daggers after he's broken up with the dagger for good and had a chance to be in one place for five seconds at a time. These 10+ daggers that he keeps on his person at all times are presumably from the Stone of Tear, but unlike all of Mat's other weapons, we never find out for sure where they came from. I think that's significant, as we see onscreen how Mat gets every other weapon he's ever used, but those daggers sneak in offscreen and Mat doesn't narrate how he got them. I think it's because if he did, he'd have to admit that he's compensating for the one knife that he can't have.
Finally, the anger and fear Mat felt when Aes Sedai kept trying to separate him from his precious dagger* are partially the dagger's influence, but partially Mat's own response to anything threatening to harm what he loves or take it away from him. When Tuon suddenly races him in the woods to test out her new mount, Mat 'couldn't have taken the roughness from his voice with a file' when he chews her out for putting herself in danger. Fear and anger are his genuine reaction to something or someone he loves romantically being in danger.
To conclude: Mat’s free choices lead into his romantic arcs, and his theft and relationship with Tuon is meant to be read in comparison to and contrast with his theft and relationship with the dagger. There are other ways (besides the implications of narrative structure) that Tuon is the successor to the Shadar Logoth dagger, which I plan to talk about in the next essay.
*(As an aside, this is also an important character note that I think explains Mat's weirdly strong aversion to channeling. While in fact the Power actually saved him, Mat was conditioned to associate it with fear and anger and terror. Mat of course has serious trauma from the dagger, which I think is lumped in with 'magic' in his head, even though it has nothing to do with the Power. But Mat also has major trauma from all of those de-daggerings- especially the last one, perhaps, which is the one we actually witness, where he's straight up getting an exorcism- and that fear of magic is what leads him to specifically request a way to be free of Aes Sedai and the Power. The freedom requested here is freedom to not be controlled/affected by Aes Sedai and the Power. It is of course significant that this is something that the Seanchan also want, though they tried to achieve it by dominating Power users and commandeering their magic, an approach embodied by sul’dam Tuon.)
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cruelfeline · 4 years ago
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All right. So, this corner of the fandom has been in a bit of an uproar after Stevenson had her stream; and while I’m of the mind that anything said outside of the actual show, without any real canon backing, can be safely ignored, I do want to address one odd statement I’ve heard talked about.
Essentially: the idea that Hordak would have pulled the portal lever at the end of season three.
Now, I will confess that I haven’t actually watched the stream itself; I’m getting this from the ripples of discontent in the Entrapdak and Hordak tags. I also don’t really plan on viewing the stream... it’s like, what, four hours long? Mm. No, thank you.
But! My goal here isn’t to address or debunk or pick apart Stevenson’s words, specifically; my goal is to simply address the question: would Hordak have activated the portal? Because it’s an interesting question, no matter what was said on-stream! And because I’ve had a few people express interest in hearing a take. So: ask, and ye shall receive!
Now, we’re going to look at this in two different circumstances: Hordak pulling the lever while still believing Entrapta to have betrayed him, and him pulling the lever in an AU situation, where Entrapta returned to him and warned him of the danger. Ready? Onward!
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We’ll tackle the “betrayal” scenario first. Would Hordak have pulled the lever in the situation as portrayed in canon, believing that Entrapta had betrayed and abandoned him? Assuming, of course, that Catra hadn’t pulled it first.
Mm... I think he probably would. But, in my opinion, not necessarily in that moment.
In this scenario, Hordak doesn’t have any reason not to pull the lever: no one has told him that it is dangerous. No one has warned him that it is going to unravel reality and kill them all unless a very specific sort of heroic sacrifice is made. He has no idea that disaster awaits, and furthermore, with Entrapta a “traitor,” he has no reason to doubt returning to Prime. He has every reason to pull the lever, but as we watch the scene play out, it is clear that he isn’t particularly keen to do so right that second.
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Catra tries to push him to do it, then and there. He reaches for the lever, but as the princesses rush in, he hesitates, retreats a bit, tries to fight. He’s not nearly as focused on the lever as Catra is.
I think that the reason for this is twofold. First, Hordak is not spite-fueled enough to pull the lever right that second the way Catra is. He wants to open the portal, of course, but it doesn’t have to be right then and there so that Adora can bear witness and be emotionally defeated. He wants to open it, but he also recognizes that his sanctum is under attack. I have the sense that he perhaps thinks it best to take care of the intruders and let everything settle back down before doing something as monumental as opening a portal and potentially entering into communications with Horde Prime. To put it simply: I think he would rather open the portal during more controlled circumstances.
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Second, princess attack aside: I just don’t think that Hordak is in the best mindset to open the portal in this moment. He’s... he’s in actual emotional shock, I think. Oh, he puts on an angry front, of course, as he always does when he is distressed or upset in some way, but there’s no missing his look of dejection when Catra informs him of Entrapta’s apparent betrayal. 
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This is the woman he has worked with for the better part of a year. The woman he grew close to and fond of and trusted with not only scientific work, but with himself. And now he’s being told that she has essentially been using him this whole time, that she’s lied to and deceived him, and that she is responsible for this terrible attack in the place he’d always assumed was safest.
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He’s hurt and stunned to the point of Catra having to pull him away from an imminent explosion. I doubt that this is the emotional state he wishes to have when opening a portal and potentially speaking with his Brother.
So, while I think that, in this scenario, Hordak would choose to open the portal, I don’t think he’d want to do it at this point in time. Contacting Prime just isn’t his main focus in this scene. His main focus is defending himself against the princesses and dealing with this devastating emotional blow. 
Now, might he possibly open the portal during the battle, under duress, perhaps feeling it is a now-or-never moment? Yes, potentially. But I don’t think he’d be too happy about it. I think it would be a sort of last resort, if he really felt he had no other choice. Again, while I think that he’d ultimately open the portal in an “Entrapta betrayal” scenario, he would much prefer to do it in a calm, controlled setting with his enemies neutralized and his emotional wounds soothed. 
So. With that scenario out of the way, let’s move on to the arguably more interesting one: would Hordak have opened the portal had Entrapta returned and informed him of the danger?
Well, friends and neighbors, I am not an authority on this character. I am not a writer. I have no special knowledge or insight. I only have my feelings and my opinion.
That opinion, however? That opinion is: no. Absolutely not. 
The reasons for this are both emotional and logical.
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Emotionally speaking, at this point in the story, Hordak already loves Entrapta. He allows her into his sanctum, allows her to come and go as she pleases, to work closely with him, to work on him. He risks his own life to save her from a failed portal test. He opens up to her about fears and vulnerabilities that are clearly difficult for him to talk about. He trusts her to the point that he allows her to make new armor for him, an action that, should this trust be misplaced, could lead to severe injury and death. He hears her “imperfection is beautiful” speech and is moved by it.
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Furthermore, he clearly exhibits doubt regarding going through with the portal solely because it would mean leaving her. This is strongly suggested in season three, when Entrapta and Hordak both grow visibly uncomfortable at the thought of Hordak leaving to rejoin the galactic Horde. It is essentially confirmed in season four, when Prime’s hand hovers over the LUVD crystal’s empty socket while he observes that there had been a time when Hordak wished he would not come for him. 
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Hordak has deep emotional attachments to Entrapta by the end of season three. He is at the same level of attachment at this point as he is at the end of season five, when his love for her helps him break free of and kill Prime. Remember: after Entrapta is sent to Beast Island, they do not see one another again until season five. Their relationship development essentially stalls... but it stalls at a high point because they are already a bonded pair, a couple, at season three’s end. With this level of attachment and affection, it is hard to rationalize Hordak disregarding Entrapta’s sincere advice, let alone pulling a portal lever that could result in both her death and his. It just doesn’t quite follow, does it? 
Even if he has some sort of doubt about the danger... why risk it? Why risk the life of the person he loves? He doesn’t do so when facing Prime in season five, when the stakes are so much higher, the need to obey so much greater... but he’d do it over the portal? Rather than just postponing the project (as both he and Entrapta appeared to be considering anyway)? 
Hm. 
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To this emotional reasoning, one can add plain logic: Hordak respects Entrapta’s intelligence. He takes her advice regarding sparing Catra. He accepts her help while working on his portal device. He values her opinion and her skills. Before learning of her “betrayal,” he clearly revels in the fact that her hard work has brought their plans to fruition. He consistently acknowledges her abilities and her worth, emotional attachment or not. Even when he barely knows her, he notes that her “tinkering” increases the power of everything she touches. He never expresses any doubt in her talents.
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To this sense of respect, one can add Hordak’s willingness to listen to others, even his subordinates. Hordak is shown, time and again, to be very open to accepting counsel: from Shadow Weaver, from Catra, and certainly from Entrapta. Even early on, in season one, when Entrapta is simply an acquaintance, he accepts her claim that the defeat at Bright Moon isn’t a failure, that her experiment was successful. Even then, he is willing to listen to her, to give her leeway in her work. Now, knowing the extent of her brilliance, he would ignore her, reject her? Why?
Why would he? What reason could he have to doubt her, when she is nearly always right and has demonstrated no ulterior motives? He, on his end, has never been bull-headed or reckless about things, never been one to ignore reasonable advice... so why start now? Especially since it is doubtful that Entrapta would ever recommend abandoning portal technology altogether; I would expect that her advice would be to simply postpone and reassess, to “keep working on it until it’s perfect.” Which... well, that seemed an amenable enough option for the both of them, before Catra’s interruption.
So.
I have to admit that I just don’t see it. I don’t see how, between his demonstrable love for her and his valuing and respecting her ability, Hordak would have disregarded Entrapta should she have managed to make it back to him to warn him of the portal’s dangers. Especially when listening to her wouldn’t necessarily mean abandoning the portal project; simply postponing it doesn’t seem like an unreasonable decision in the face of such severe risk.
I mean, I suppose one could argue that he just wouldn’t believe her, that Catra would somehow lie and make him doubt her... but I don’t see how he would believe Catra (a known liar) over Entrapta (honest to a fault, also his wife) if the two were side by side. Hordak is insecure. He is not stupid.
And after all, isn’t that the whole reason that Catra shocked Entrapta? Because she knew that Hordak would believe her and stop the portal? If that wasn’t the case, if Hordak would have gone ahead with it anyway... well, then that makes Catra’s actions even worse, doesn’t it? Takes all the logic out of them. Makes her subduing Entrapta and threatening Scorpia all the more senseless and cruel, if Hordak wouldn’t have believed Entrapta anyway. Kind of messes with her whole arc, doesn’t it? Makes her even more morally bankrupt. Hm.
So while I do think that Hordak would have eventually pulled the portal lever in Entrapta’s absence (though he’d prefer to do it in a more controlled setting), I just can’t see how or why he would have pulled it if Entrapta had actually reached him with her warning. I mean, I’m not one of the writers, obviously; I have no unique knowledge or insight into these characters, but from what I’ve seen in terms of canonical behavior and relationships? It just makes it hard for me to rationalize and believe that Hordak would disregard Entrapta in favor of such a reckless act.
It just doesn’t seem like him. 
And again: I could be misinterpreting his character. That’s always possible. But if that’s the case, then I would need a significant explanation to make such an act make sense to me, rather than seeming like a bit of nonsensical character derailment. Because as things are right now, I just don’t see him doing it. For all of the reasons listed above. 
And that, friends and neighbors, is the "would Hordak have pulled the lever" take. Hopefully some of y'all find it amusing!
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kiarcheo · 3 years ago
Text
Omne Trium Perfectum   
The Clarrward fic I promised @pikapals16.
Arranged Marriage AU, set in an imaginary past and world where women can rule and homophobia is not a thing but arranged marriages are.
Can read it on ao3
                                      —————————————
‘Cheer up, lass, you will want for nothing.’
It takes all the etiquette training she had ever gone through to stop her from rolling her eyes at her chaperon’s words. She knows he means well, but he is just telling her what she already knows. What is pretty much the only thing she knows. Or that she has been promised, at least. That her future spouse is abundantly wealthy. Enough to make the arranged marriage seem like a pondered, planned and advantageous choice for her family rather than what actually is. She has no misconceptions. She is on her way to a foreign land to marry someone she has never heard of before because her family hopes that over there the echoes of her....missteps will have not been heard. If you can call trusting the wrong guy a misstep. She protected her virtue, she is not an idiot. Even when she expected to marry him, she still would not give in, no matter how much he pleaded and asked and cajoled. And she has never been happier considering how it ended. But apparently nobody cared for that. Nor that she had been unaware and completely foreign to his actions. She had been his intended for years, everyone knew that, and that simple fact was enough to ruin her and her reputation.
So her family, the very same people who had chosen him for her in the first place, are now acting as if it is her fault that Thomas revealed himself to be a sorry excuse for a human being, and as if she should be grateful that they managed to find her a spouse despite everything. All the while not so subtly implying that she better not mess up this opportunity too...because they have no intention of taking her back.
And that’s how Catherine Parr finds herself travelling across nations to marry the head of the House of La Marck.
Why someone who holds three duchies and two counties needed to look so far away to find someone to marry, a complete stranger who will bring no lands, no political power, and no exceptional dowry is beyond her comprehension.
Age, looks, health, they all count nothing compared to power and money. Not matter how ugly, stupid, old or sick...if someone is wealthy enough, or powerful enough, there will always be someone willing to marry them. So why could they not find a single willing woman in the vast lands under their control? Or even nearby?
Did they look for someone who would have no knowledge of what she was getting into? For someone who would be so far removed from their homeland and family that she would have no way to escape?
Nobody will ever accuse her of lacking imagination...and none of the answers Catherine comes up with are comforting.
But then she arrives at what is going to be her new home, at least according to her chaperon. The same man who seems to decide that it might be important to let her know that her spouse is going to be a woman before leaving her in the hands of a welcoming committee that does not include her future wife…and...everything is nice.
The palace is impressive but not intimidating, and she looks forward to the tour promised by Lady Joan, who had introduced herself as the one in charge of her personal attendants. She is informed that her name is Jane but to distinguish her from another Lady Jane, who is momentarily absent, and apparently higher in ranks, she is known as Joan.
From Lady Joan to Lady Elizabeth, who fills the same position but for her spouse, to every staff member she encounters, they all seem nice. They greet her cordially, spare her too long introductions in favour of leading her to her chambers. Leave her food so that she can rest and eat when she feels like it, rather than having to put up appearances.
And yet, there is something....off. They are all pleasant and kind, but they all look at her with something akin pity.
Which she doesn’t get.
At first she thinks it’s because she looks dreadful, exhausted from the long trip.
But it doesn’t change once she is fully rested and she makes herself presentable. No, not just presentable, but putting extra effort to impress, both the household and her betrothed.
Then she wonders if perhaps it’s because of the situation she finds herself in, but all the staff has nothing but good things to say about her fiancée. Just like they seem to enjoy working at the palace. And she thinks it is genuine.
Her interactions with her future wife are sporadic and impersonal, but always cordial. Just like the first time they had met, the duchess nothing like she had expected.
‘Lady Catherine,’ the woman had bowed her head shallowly, ‘I hope you found your accommodation to your satisfaction.’
‘I did, Your Grace,’ Catherine had curtsied, ‘thank you very much. Lady Joan has been most helpful, just like everyone else.’
‘I’m pleased,’ the duchess had nodded in appreciation towards the attendants, ‘let her know if you need anything. Or anyone else. We will do our best to make you feel at home.’
Then she had swept out of the room.
She had been utterly polite the next few times they had met. Even going as far as graciously telling her she could call her Anna if she wished so, forgoing formalities. Not that she had many chances so far. Catherine imagines she is very busy. The alternative is that Anna is going out of her way to avoid her.
Still, there is nothing alarming or worryingly. She isn’t sure if she should trust her gut feelings and her reading people skills, considering how they failed her for years, leaving her blind to who Thomas really was. So she wonders if she is wrong. Maybe they are not pitying her. Perhaps they just...know things she doesn’t. Easy since she just arrived, with barely a clue about the new life she was getting into.  
She certainly feels her inexperience days later, when the palace seems to be buzzing and she has no idea why. Nor she has any idea who the young woman at the center of the activities is. Or why everyone seems to be waiting on her words. Even Lady Elizabeth seems to defer to her.
She has barely asked Lady Joan if she could make the introductions when she is spotted. Everyone seems to move aside, letting the lady approach her, an older woman at her side.
‘Lady Parr, it’s a pleasure to meet you,’ she curtsies, ‘this is Lady Jane Rochford,’ she motions to her companion, ‘and I’m Katherine Howard. I hope your stay has been pleasant so far.’
Catherine curtsies back, suddenly aware that everyone’s attention is on her. She keeps feeling eyes on her as they exchange pleasantries. It doesn’t feel malicious, like they are waiting for a misstep, but rather out of curiosity...and she is curious herself, as well as confused. Why the interest? Lady Howard had said similar things to those her fiancée did...albeit the interaction had been much warmer and longer, the young woman enquiring about her trip as well as how she is enjoying her new home and whether there is anything they could do to make the transition easier.
She soon starts to understand. Because Anna might be the head of the house, but it is Katherine who runs it. It sort of makes sense. Anna has political responsibilities as well as administrative ones for five different territories, it is not surprising that she doesn’t have the time or desire to be bogged down in running the household. And Catherine certainly doesn’t resent that she had chosen Katherine to do so, not when it clearly had been going since long before she appeared on the scene, and Katherine had been doing an excellent job at it.
As she liaises with her to organise the wedding, her future bride apparently completely disinterested in the matter, she can see why everyone looks up to Katherine, and she dares say, even loves her. Spending so much time together, especially compared to the amount of time she spends with Anna (who, however, seems to be around much more often, if the glimpses she catches are any indication), it comes to no surprise that she is closer to Katherine than to the woman she is going to marry.
Perhaps that’s why on a wedding day that sees none of the brides happy, what hurts Catherine the most is how utterly sad Katherine looks, despite her best efforts to hide it.
She only has to wait until the next day to find out the reason.
Whenever Catherine had thought about her wedding night, whether with Thomas, with a mystery spouse when she didn’t know about the identity of the new match arranged by her family, and then with Anna, she had a lot of mixed feelings. Anxiety. Anticipation. Dread. Curiosity. Nerves. What she had never expected was that she would spend it completely alone, no trace of her new spouse.
The staff doesn’t seem surprised to see her leaving her rooms by herself...nor by her asking where her wife is, making it even more obvious she had not spent the night. She is grateful they don’t comment on it...and that they don’t direct her towards Anna’s chambers because she has no idea where they are exactly, besides in which wing of the palace they are in. Luckily she is much more familiar with the library location.
‘You were not in your chambers last night.’
‘You should not have been looking for me. Not on your wedding night.’
At least someone else seemed to share Catherine’s expectations.
‘Bessie told me you were crying.’
‘Bessie should mind her own business.’
‘Kat,’
Catherine had never heard her wife so gentle.
‘What?!’
Nor Katherine being less than gracious.
‘I’m sorry.’
Katherine lets out a heavy sigh. ‘Don’t apologise. I’m sorry for snapping at you. It is not your fault.’
‘I wish it could have been you.’
‘We always knew it was impossible…’ from her tone Catherine can imagine a bittersweet smile on Katherine’s face, ‘doesn’t hurt any less.’
‘I love you.’
‘I love you too.’
Catherine silently walks away. She can talk to her wife another time. She needs to process what she learned, anyway. She never had grand expectations of love from this marriage. Not with her family not even telling her whom she was going to marry, just sending her on her merry way to a foreign land to wed a complete stranger. Not after meeting Anna and being treated with polite, cool detachment.
Still, she surprises herself a bit when all she feels for Katherine is a new appreciation. She had been unfailingly courteous towards her. She went out of her way to make her feel at home, certainly more than her wife ever did. Not once she had betrayed her hurt or any kind of negative feelings towards Catherine for marrying the woman she loves.
Many things appear under a new light, giving Catherine a different understanding, from the way Katherine is in charge and treated as nothing less than the mistress of the house to why Anna keeps her distance, formal and aloof, seemingly completely disinterested in her.
Which is a far sight from the bad mood she seems to be few days later. When she cautiously enquiries where Katherine is, all she gets is a curt reply that she is away on business...it doesn’t feel her place to ask what kind of business or where, but it is evident to her the absence is the cause of Anna’s discontent.
Catherine resolves to steer clear from her wife, which is usually quite an easy feat. That’s why she starts to retrace her steps as she hears Anna’s terse ‘I’m sure that Lady Anne was only too willing.’
She is out of earshot when she stops. This is her house too now. If she wants to get a book from the library, she will. And if her wife has a problem with her entering a room she is in, she can vacate it herself. What she doesn’t expect approaching the library once again is to hear Katherine’s voice.  
‘-with your wife.’
‘You did it on purpose.’ Anna’s statement sounds like an accusation.
‘I had some business to deal with,’ Katherine doesn’t come across as fazed, ‘but the timing was propitious, I admit. Giving you the time and space to get to know her.’
‘She is not you.’
‘And that’s not her fault,’ Katherine rebukes her, ‘Anna, you can’t punish her for that.’
‘I’m not.’
‘We both know that there are many ways to hurt someone-’
‘I’m nothing like-’
‘Of course not!’ Katherine interrupts her. ‘Of course not,’ she repeats softer, ‘have you at least talked to her? Explained the situation?’
‘And tell her what?’ Anna scoffs.
‘That she should feel free to find someone else too, for starters. It is unfair for you to enjoy...well, me, love, companionship, while condemning her to solitude because she thinks she owes you fidelity when you don’t give her the same. Catherine is smart. Caring. Beautiful. She will have no problems finding someone to appreciate her if you don't want to.’
‘Someone like you?’
‘Why not?’ Catherine barely suppresses a gasp because that is not what she expected Katherine to say. ‘If she’ll have me, of course.’
‘Where are you going?’ Anna calls after her. ‘Kat. Katherine. Lady Katherine!’
Katherine stops by the door, just in time for Catherine to slip into the adjacent room without being seen.
‘Be careful. One might think you’re calling for your wife.’
And with that parting shot, Katherine leaves.
.
Catherine tries to convince herself that Katherine had been joking. Or better, that she had talked like that just to needle Anna. But Katherine never makes her feel like she is spending time with her to spite Anna or to make her jealous. As a matter of fact, her wife is never discussed and most of their interactions seem to happen out of her sight, although she has no doubt that Anna knows they are taking place. So Catherine just tries to enjoy the very pleasant company and the warm feelings it brings her.
‘Lady Catherine, would you like to join me for a stroll in the gardens?’
‘What could I get you to make you call me Cathy?’ she asks putting down her book. She had obviously known about it before, but since overhearing Katherine’s comment, it has been on her mind, how there is no way to differentiate their names when spoken aloud.
‘What are you willing to offer?’ Katherine cheekily counters back. ‘Only if you call me Kat,’ she adds, taking pity on a flustered Cathy.
‘If you like this, I’m going to take you to another property, it has a path lined on both sides by cherry trees, and another with camellia. They are stunning when they are all flowering,’ Kat tells her as she looks in awe at the surrounding colourful scenery. ‘If you want, of course,’ she adds, sensing Cathy’s hesitation.
‘Just...I wouldn't want to upset Anna,’ Cathy is aware that the more time Kat spends with her, the less she spends with her wife.
‘She is welcome to join us if she wishes so,’ Kat doesn’t seem to see any issue. ‘Besides, it will be good for you to get an idea of what you are the lady of. I don’t want to presume anything, but personally I would be bored to death in your situation...so perhaps you would be interested in taking over some duties. Either from me or from-’
‘I don’t want to take anything away from you.’ Not anymore than she already did, Cathy thinks to herself.
‘What if I tell you that I would appreciate the help?’
‘Why are you being so nice to me?’ Cathy can’t stop herself from asking.
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ Kat looks at her genuinely confused.
Cathy flounders.
‘I know how it is to be a girl in a foreign land, trying to find your place, barely knowing anybody, not even your spouse...not chosen nor liked.’
‘I like Anna.’ She doesn’t say it just because she is talking to her lover. Anna might be distant, but she has always been pleasant to her. And she has never seen nor heard of any ill-behaviour towards anyone else either.
‘She is very likeable, isn’t she?’ Kat smiles softly. ‘But it doesn’t mean it is an easy situation for you,’ she gives her an understanding look, ‘I know you are aware of me and Anna.’
Cathy gasps. She hadn’t realised Kat knew she knew. And she certainly didn’t expect her to broach the topic so openly.
‘You don’t seem to mind?’ for the first time Kat sounds hesitant.
‘I- it makes you two happy. And it doesn’t make me unhappy,’ Cathy tells her. Love would be ideal, but- ‘I count myself lucky for what I got.’
.
‘There you are!’ Anna sweeps into the library.
‘We have been going over the books.’ Kat had been showing Cathy the ropes.
Anna pointedly looks between the table where the accounting records are spread and the couch they are currently sitting on.
‘We are taking a break.’
‘You have been at it for ages, didn’t know we had so many books.’
Cathy dares say Anna sounds grumpy more than sarcastic.
‘If I am to seduce her, I will take my time,’ Cathy chokes on her own breath at Kat’s reply, ‘you should know better than to expect her to jump in my bed quickly. You should know better than to expect that from both of us.’
Anna merely grabs a nearby book and sits down next to Kat, huffing.
.
‘What can I do for you?’ Anna enquiries.
While they had been spending more time together, it had always been the three of them.
‘I was looking for Kat,’ Cathy admits. ‘She told me she would be unable to make our usual meeting, but I haven’t seen her at all since two days ago.’
‘She is away on business.’
‘What type of business?’ It comes out sharper than intended, but all Cathy can think is what could require staying overnight. ‘Where?’
‘You better not be implying what I think you’re implying.’ Anna’s reply is equally pointed. Then she peers at her wife curiously. ‘Are you jealous?’
Cathy doesn’t know what to say. It’s her wife. Asking if she is jealous of someone else. Who happens to be her wife’s lover.
Anna laughs, the lack of reply seemingly speaking for itself.
‘Proper business. She has a mind for it,’ she then graciously informs her. ‘Why do you think she runs the show around here?’
Cathy opens her mouth to answer before thinking better of it. She could be a lover without responsibilities. And she knows Kat doesn’t run just the household, but she also keeps an eye on other properties belonging to Anna too. She doesn’t know how she balances all she had shown her with other additional, apparently personal, businesses. But she understands even more why she was not upset about the idea of sharing some duties with Cathy.
.
‘I know I can’t compare to the one you’re wishing for,’ Cathy had not realised she was staring longingly out of the window until Anna’s voice brings her back to reality, ‘but would you like to go to the gardens with me?’
As they walk side by side, Cathy considers how, of all things, she had never expected to bond with her own wife over their shared fondness for another woman.
‘Speak true,’ Anna interrupts her musings, ‘you might have realised with Kat that I value honesty over politeness, especially when it’s fake.’
Yes. That should have been the first hint, how brazen and frank the younger woman was while talking to her wife, in a way no other at the palace would do, not even Bessie – Lady Elizabeth – whom Cathy had learned had been with Anna for a very long time.
‘Why call for me? When you had Katherine. And I’m sure plenty of other women around would have been willing to marry you too.’
‘Are you saying I’m an attractive prospect?’ Anna teases her. Then she gets serious. ‘Lady Catalina said you needed an out.’
‘You know my godmother??’ Will surprises ever cease? Catalina had promised that they would see each other soon in her last letter, but she had made no mention of knowing her wife.
‘Kat better than me,’ Anna doesn’t elaborate on the matter, ‘I needed a bride. Possibly one without expectations because-’
‘Kat.’
‘Yes.’ Anna had never been one for cruelty. She was getting a wife, but her heart was already spoken for.
‘We thought that someone just happy to leave, to start anew, would not care too much about love, as long as property and discretion was maintained.’
Cathy doesn’t miss the we. She can’t imagine being involved and planning for someone she loved to get married to someone else. But then again, Kat had planned their wedding...not for the first time she gets the urge to apologise to her.
‘Although perhaps we failed in that respect.’
‘Kat behaved exemplarily.’ Even while spending time together organising the wedding, Katherine had not let slip the tiniest negative feeling towards Cathy...or her affection towards Anna, not even once. Cathy would have not known if she had not overheard them...not that she will share that anytime soon.
‘And I did not?’ Anna asks, faking offense.
‘But why not marry Kat?’ Cathy has been asking herself that since she had heard them saying it was impossible. Can’t be a matter of status, Cathy had not much of it either. Kat clearly has the education and training of a proper lady. And it’s not like Cathy brought money or land or power.
‘That’s not my story to tell.’
Cathy adds it to the list of things to ask Kat, which range from how she knows her godmother to what her business is, exactly.
.
‘What a sight to come back to!’ Kat exclaims from the doorway seeing Anna and Cathy together.
Anna is immediately on her feet, reaching her in quick strides and drawing her in a hug.
‘Did you miss me?’ Kat wraps her arms around her with a laugh.
‘You know I did. I always do,’ Anna releases her from the embrace, ‘and someone else missed you too.’  
.
‘If your aim is reached,’ Anna asks, a lady on each arm, as they are walking through the gardens together, ‘does it mean that you won’t leave on business again soon?’
‘The timing was purely coincidental. Of course, I’m pleased that my absence brought fruit. But I truly had business to attend to.’
‘Was it a productive venture?’ Cathy politely enquiries, still no idea what the business is.
‘Very.’ Kat gives her a shark-like grin.
‘Nothing illegal, right?’
‘Who do you think I am?’ Kat sounds amused rather than offended at Anna’s words. ‘There is no law against what I did.’
It doesn’t sound reassuring to Cathy, who squeezes Anna’s bicep. Her wife shakes her head. Sometimes it’s better not to ask. She doesn’t look worried, so Cathy lets it go, figuring she certainly knows better than herself.
.
‘Would you like join us for a nightcap in our chamber?’ Anna surprises Cathy with the invitation.
‘Nothing untoward.’
‘Unless you count drinking. Because there will be drinking. Plenty of that.’
‘Not that much,’ Kat smiles at her reassuringly, ‘it can be in your room if you prefer.’
Cathy has never seen their quarters. Their shared ones, since they also have separate rooms, she always thought for appearance’s sake...not that she had ever visited those either. And she can't say what she expected from her first visit...but it certainly wasn’t that the three of them would be lying around, just in their nightclothes, drinking and chatting.
‘How did you meet?’ Alcohol fuels Cathy’s curiosity. Or better, it removes her usual restraints that keep it from being sated.
‘I was sent away in disgrace. For sullying the good name of the family.’ Kat rolls her eyes.
‘Kat.’
‘You’re not the only girl married off and shipped to a foreign country to be hidden like a dirty little secret,’ she continues, ignoring Anna’s slightly scolding concern, ‘sorry,’ she apologises to Cathy after a beat, realising how it came across.
‘Unfortunate but true.’ Cathy shrugs it off.
‘I was married to the former secretary of my step-grandmother, before he oh-so-conveniently left the country. I was part of his severance pay, apparently. Though I’m sure they would have given me away for free if they were not so money-hungry.’
‘She gets bitter when she drinks,’ Anna tells Cathy, who is surprised by this new side of the usually sweet Kat.
‘I used to help him in his office,’ Kat lets out an unladylike snort, ‘at least he taught me something. Which got me a job here...and away from him most of the time.’ Cathy frowns. She doesn’t like the sound of that at all. ‘And then he tragically died and I found out that he had amassed quite some riches...though I’m not sure I want to know exactly how. And he left them all to me, as long as I do not remarry. Only good thing he did besides teaching me stuff. Leaving me everything, not the clause. And coming here so I could meet Anna, I guess.’
‘And dying,’ Anna adds.
‘And that too.’ Kat nods.
Legally married is different from promised to someone like Cathy was. Marrying a widow, for someone of Anna’s status, was perhaps frowned upon, but certainly not illegal. And even if it were to set tongues wagging, Anna has enough clout to ignore them.
‘Can’t believe I’m asking,’ Cathy’s head feels fuzzy, her own brain processing the words leaving her mouth with some delay, ‘but why didn’t you marry her? I would have married her.’ Even if Kat was to lose her inheritance or whatever, it’s not like Anna could not provide for her.
‘Thanks,’ Kat giggles, ‘I would have married you too.’
‘Oi!’ Anna protests. ‘What about me?’
‘You know why I can’t marry you.’ Kat reaches out to pat her hip sympathetically.
‘Why?’
‘Do we really have to bring politics in our bed?’ Anna complains.
Cathy blinks at the possessive pronoun before turning to Kat, waiting for explanation.
‘Francis left me some lands. Quite small, but the position is…strategic. Without getting into too many details, they provide access to the sea to various inland territories. Including this one. I’m keeping the area neutral. Despite common knowledge of my...links to House of La Marck, with no official connection and no proof of favouritism…nobody will support an attempt to invade or conquer it. They like the neutrality. If I were to lose the lands, they would go to someone who will block our access to the sea. Not to mention that if I married Anna, they would probably see it as an attempt on her part to expand her territories and get sole access to the sea blocking others...and I’m sure an attack or more would soon follow.’
‘You might have to repeat that another day,’ Cathy admits drowsily, realising she had lost focus a couple of times during Kat’s speech.
Kat chortles kindly, ‘Not used to drink?’
Not used indeed. Cathy wakes up in the morning confused by the warm presences beside her but more than that annoyed by their chatting. She turns, hoping to find a pillow to hide her head under...only to roll over a body. A hand comes up to rub her back and...fine. This is good too.
‘Good morning,’ Anna’s voice cheerily greets her.
‘Why?’ is her groaning response.
Cathy feels the chest she is resting her head on vibrate against her cheek as Kat chuckles. ‘Anna has a Teutonic constitution. I learned my limits years ago. You will too with time.’
They lie in bed quietly until a knock interrupts their peace. Cathy tenses, but Anna calmly calls to come in without hesitation.
‘Oh. Should I move Lady Catherine’s chambers?’ Lady Elizabeth doesn’t sound surprised to see Cathy in bed with the two other women. As Kat doesn’t loosen her hold on her, Cathy peeks up...and yes, she doesn’t look surprised either.
‘Not so fast. Give her some time to figure things out...she might want to keep some distance from Anna.’
‘Me? Why from me?’ Cathy’s rooms are in a different wing than Kat’s too, not just Anna’s…or their shared ones.
‘I can see you point,’ Bessie agrees, ignoring Anna’s protests. ‘Would you like to break fast?’ She then asks what she had come for.
‘Could we have it brought here? Something to settle the stomach...and the head.’
Hearing Kat’s request, Bessie gives her a once-over.  
‘Not for me.’
‘Ah,’ Bessie nods, almost to herself, ‘I remember those days and you don’t look like then.’
.
As days pass, the three of them can often be found in the same room, whether working (with Cathy taking on more responsibilities for the household) or just spending time together. On one of such days, Lady Jane arrives bringing in correspondence. She hands one envelope to Anna, one to Cathy, and two to Kat.
‘Why does she get two?’ Cathy blurts out, prompting the others’ laughter. Blushing, she busies herself opening her envelope. She quickly reads the letter inside. Then she does it again. It’s from Catalina! She is going to see her soon! At a...ball? ‘Uhm, Anna?’
Before she can ask any further questions, her wife hands her her own letter. The invitation to said ball. Then Cathy looks at Kat, to see if she got something similar. After all, invitations commonly include spouses, so it makes sense that Anna would get one but not Cathy, and following that logic, Kat should get her own. But the younger woman is instead unfolding several sheets from one of her own envelopes.
‘Everything alright?’ Anna asks before Cathy can do it as they both watch a thoughtful frown appearing on Kat’s face.
‘Yes. I need to make a detour to take care of something before joining you at the estate,’ she replies while sending a meaningful look to Lady Jane, who nods in response.
‘Be careful.’
‘Always.’ Kat reassures Anna. ‘Besides, I have Rocky with me.’
Lady Jane gives them a feral grin that leaves Cathy half-terrified and half-reassured.
.
‘Tell me again?’
‘It’s the biggest ball in the land. It happens once a year and everyone who is someone is there. The ball is mostly an excuse to...trade gossip and make deals,’ Anna explains.
‘And my godmother will be there.’
‘Yes.’
When Cathy had learned of her arranged marriage, she didn’t know Catalina had been involved in organising it. She just knew that she would be able to see her again because she sometimes visited what would be her new country. During Kat’s absence, while talking to Anna, she learned that Catalina would visit them at least once a year – now she thinks in time for the ball – if not more...because apparently she is married to Kat’s cousin.
.
‘Who is that?’ Cathy hisses to Anna, glaring at the woman warmly hugging Kat for longer – and closer – that is appropriate.
‘Who knew that such a tiny body could contain so much jealousy.’
Cathy turns her glare to her wife, harrumphing both at the lack of jealousy and at the dig at her height, thus missing the object of her displeasure approaching.
‘Your Grace.’
‘Lady Anne, always a pleasure to see you again,’ Anna greets her.  
‘I trust you are treating my Katherine accordingly.’
‘Like a queen.’
‘What about your wife?’ She enquires with a fleeting glance towards Cathy before giving Anna a pointed look.
‘She treats her like a queen too.’
Cathy gasps at Anna’s reply, but Lady Anne doesn’t seem fazed. She tilts her head, ‘Is that so, Lady Catherine?’
Before Cathy can say anything, the other woman is already turning around, ‘Elizabeth! What did I tell you about this kind of behaviour?’
‘To leave climbing her to Aunt Anna.’
‘Maybe don’t say that around other people,’ Kat puts the child down, smothering a laugh.
‘Why?’
‘Because then everyone will want to climb Aunt Kat,’ Anne replies.
‘I want to climb Aunt Kat,’ another child announces entering the room.
Anne gestures to the boy, ‘See.’
Kat leans over to hug him, before standing and moving to hug another woman....And then Catalina, as she appears behind them.
‘Well, we have some last-minute matters to discuss, so we’ll leave you to it,’ Anne announces, moving to grab both Kat and the other woman’s arms.
‘Can I least introduce my wife to my goddaughter?’ Catalina stops her.
Anne rolls her eyes. ‘If your wife wants.’
Catalina holds out her hand and the third woman steps forward, a warm smile on her face.
‘Catherine, this is my wife, Jane,’ her godmother says once she leads her over, ‘and this is her son, Edward.’
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
‘I look forward to getting to know you,’ Jane reciprocates.
‘But not now,’ Anne reminds her, piping up from her position next to Kat.
‘Not now,’ Jane agrees.
‘Well, kiss goodbye and we will see you at the ball.’ Anne leans down to kiss the top of Elizabeth’s head.
Jane gives Catalina a peck and whispers some last recommendations to Edward, while Kat goes up to Anna and Cathy, kissing them both on the lips.
‘Guess that answers a question of mine,’ Catalina comments as the three women leave.
‘What?’ Cathy asks, once she recovers from the surprise. She had not expected to be kissed in front of people who are not in their household. Or perhaps they are, if they are Kat’s cousins...
‘Anna and Katherine are...not an open secret, but...if you know them, you know about them.’ Catalina gives Anna a meaningful look.
One day Cathy will ask her godmother why she suggested her for the marriage knowing Anna was taken...or perhaps it was exactly that. No hope for love, but also no risk of...unwanted interest? But that’s not the day. Besides, she got love. In spades.
.
‘Heaven helps us,’ Catalina mutters as a hush falls over the ballroom at the cousins’ grand entrance.
Cathy gapes. She thought Kat was beautiful at the wedding, but she had clearly gone for understated because that was nothing compared to how absolutely stunning she looks now.
Anna squeezes arm, ‘I know, but get a hold of yourself.’
Cathy closes her mouth and then turns surprised eyes to her wife.
‘I just have plenty of practice acting as if her beauty doesn’t leave me speechless,’ Anna whispers to her.
However, that doesn’t seem to be what had prompted Catalina's reaction. ‘They truly went all out this time,’ her godmother comments. ‘Don’t look at me,’ she continues, aware of their curious gazes. ‘I might be married to Jane, but it doesn’t mean I have any idea of what goes on in that mind of hers. Even less when all three cousins are involved.’ She chances a look at Anna. ‘Do you?’
‘She has been unusually busy lately but hasn’t shared so far.’
.
Catalina raises her head as they join her for breakfast, ‘Katherine was a no show too?’
It might take a while for Cathy to get used to her godmother knowing and not caring about her and her wife sharing...a lover? Mistress? Partner? Well, Kat.
Anna shakes her head. When they had left the ballroom to retire for the night, Kat and her cousins were still flitting from one guest to another, the remaining ones at least, weaving connections and networks as they had been doing the whole evening.
‘Lady Margaret, Lady Jane,’ Catalina calls their attention, ‘do you know where-’
‘They were in the library when we passed it,’ a third woman replies.
‘Thank you, Maria.’
Indeed that’s where they find the cousins, mess of papers on the table in front of them.
‘Did you stay up all night?’
‘We needed to check that everything was correct, make sure the deals are closed properly, didn’t miss anything.’
‘Deals,’ Catalina repeats.
‘Exchanges. Contracts. Transactions,’ Anne says.
‘Of course,’ Catalina mutters. As if she should have expected anything different. ‘Is it another gamefowl farm?’
‘I still don’t see what you have against that. It’s making us a lot of money,’ Jane points out. ‘But no. You have been talking about wanting to be closer to Cathy.’
‘And you about missing Catalina,’ Kat joins the conversation, addressing Cathy. ‘And I never gave you a wedding gift.’
‘But about me?’
‘You got Cathy,’ Kat tells Anna, who nods.
‘And she stayed,’ Anne adds, receiving a small glare from Anna. It is no secret that there is an open invitation for Kat to go and live with Anne...Invitation that has been repeatedly extended since the older cousin had first heard about Anna getting married…not to Kat.
‘But the new house comes with extensive stables. Horses included. All yours,’ Kat continues.
‘New house?’
Kat rummages through the papers. ‘Where is the map?’
Jane hands it to her.
‘No, not of the land. The one of the region.’
Another one is fished out from the mounds of papers strewn around.
‘So...Anne is the new owner of this area.’ Kat points a spot on the map, then another one. ‘Jane got this. Neither have legal connections to you-’
‘So nobody has ground for complaint.’
Jane looks at them expectantly.
‘I would say it’s the lack of sleep, but it’s not,’ Anne informs the married couple less acquainted with Jane’s love of puns.
‘Catalina loves them!’
‘Why don’t we let Kat continues?’ Catalina eagerly suggests before Anne can open her mouth and get her in trouble. She loves her wife, but she is not as fond of puns as Jane is...although she has yet to find anyone with the same love for wordplays.
‘As I was saying, officially they are completely independent, but we’re still securing the borders and sea access even more,’ Kat continues, ‘and everyone lives closer. Also I got this.’
Anna looks at the contract Kat hands her, then at the map. ‘Is this the one you have been eyeing for a while?’
‘Yes.’
‘And all of this...you got it legally, right?’
The three cousins in unison bring one hand to their chest. ‘Do you doubt us?’
.
‘Lady Catherine, a minute of your time.’
Waiting until they are alone, Anne then asks, ‘What do you know about Jane’s husband?’
Cathy is taken aback by the question. ‘Not a lot. Short-tempered. Openly pursued Kat despite being married to her cousin. Died falling from a horse.’
‘What about Kat’s?’
Cathy grimaces. 'Few things.’ Kat doesn’t like to talk about the matter so she never presses. ‘None too good. Or any good at all.’
‘I’ll tell you three things they had in common: they claimed to love my cousins, they hurt my cousins, they died in unfortunate accidents.’ Anne counts on her fingers. Then she looks at Cathy straight in the eyes. ‘Would be a shame if something were to happen to you...’
With her words hanging in the air, with a casual stride Anne leaves the room...and a gobsmacked Cathy.
Seeing her standing still, stunned expression on her face, Anna approaches her wife, ‘Are you alright?’
‘What happened?’ Catalina asks, joining them.
‘I’m not sure,’ Anna answers as Cathy gives no sign she is going to do so, ‘I saw Anne leaving and found her like this.’
‘Did she threaten you that if you hurt her cousin, you will meet your untimely demise?’ Catalina asks knowingly.
‘Oh.’ Anna nods in understanding. ‘Should have thought about that. I’m sorry, I didn’t think about warning you in advance.’
‘She did the same with you?’ Cathy finds her voice again, directing her question to both women.
‘Consider it the official welcome to the family,’ Anna grins at her.
Cathy smiles at the thought before it falls. ‘Wait- did she actually kill them?’
She thought it was merely a threat. A warning. Not-
‘I have no intention to find out…do you?’
                                  —————————————
Not sure if I’m happy with this as I'm struggling to get a read on this trio, but I wanted to write some OT3 for Pika so this is what I got.
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naivesilver · 3 years ago
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top 5 adaptations of the Fairy from Pinocchio? (or maybe top 5 best AND 5 worst?)
I spent so long staring at this and wondering if I even KNEW five good Fairies, but it turns out I do, albeit mostly for asinine reasons. Anyway AHFAKKJKFHAHJKJA thank you <3
Ask me my top 5 anything
Obviously under the cut because I couldn't resist and did BOTH
The salt AKA the worst of the worst first:
1) Piccolino No Bouken
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Surprised? I suppose most would have expected me to put the Disney Fairy first, and I did, too, for a while, but as I was sitting in my car pondering this ranking I realized I was SEETHING with rage about this one, so I had to rearrange things a bit. This, guys, is where my Fairy hate begins - not the book, not the Mouse's interference. This woman.
I hate her. I hate her SO MUCH, for all that I love this adaptation more than most things in the world, and that the choices made about her characterization were a huge inspiration for me. Not only does she not send Pinocchio to school, instead teaching him on her own, she is the only one to actively keep Pinocchio from his father - indeed, she makes the choice for them, saying to Geppetto's face that it would be best for the boy to be taught something before he goes back home. Who the hell are you to make this call, uh? You have known him for a day at most! You left him hanging from a fucking tree all night! I wouldn't trust you with a bloody lapdog, nevermind a child!
Also she lets Pinocchio believe she's dead UNTIL THE VERY END. She turns into a bird while he cries at her tomb. Are we fucking serious now? Leave him alone.
(Yes, this is elementary school me howling for revenge. I've been mad about this longer than reason would let me. Sue me.)
2) Disney's Pinocchio
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Bane of my existence. I don't know if anyone remembers that pic of me at the Pinocchio theme park I posted a while ago, but basically in that moment they were putting up a little show to tell children a little bit of the OG story, and they asked the audience if they knew what color the Fairy's hair was - a few said blonde, and I, being on stage next to her, distinctly heard her mutter "dammit, Disney". I've been living with that mantra since then.
Nobody asked you to make that puppet sentient, ma'am. He doesn't owe you shit. Aside from that, just like Jiminy Cricket, she ruined her character in a good two thirds of future adaptation. And while we're speaking of Jiminy, WHY did she think it would be a good idea to entrust a little boy to a slime ball such as him? He's too horny to have an ounce of sense. Conscience, my ass.
Basically...begone, asshole.
3) Pinocchio and the Emperor of the Night
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This film is so horrible, the Fairy had no chance to be decent at all. A cheap copy of the Disney one, with the addendum that she turns MULTIPLE toys into living beings while holding them responsible for whatever they do after. Basically Victor Frankenstein, but make it a poorly dressed woman from a direct-to-TV movie that shouldn't have existed at all.
-100/10, at least you're pretty, but by God, SHUT UP.
4) Once Upon a Time
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Honest to God if she doesn't keep her filthy hands off my faves she's gonna get a slap across the face so strong her Wish Realm self ought to feel it sting. I am not exaggerating.
Seven seasons in, she hasn't done ANYTHING useful that I can remember. She's not even good at her own fucking job! Not only that, she's traumatized and guilt-tripped a good chunk of the population of Storybrooke, including first and foremost my beloved son August. The Pavlovian reaction I had every time she appeared on screen can't be described in coherent words, only in eagle screeches.
She's wrong. On principle, she's wrong. Let's move on.
5) Luigi Comencini's Le Avventure di Pinocchio
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Doesn't rank higher only because she's played by Gina Lollobrigida (my beloved). She's book accurate, which means she'd be annoying as fuck as it is, but what little they added only makes her worse.
She has the gall to tell Pinocchio she'd like to see him happier. Like, apart from the fact that the ghost of his father's deceased wife isn't exactly the most reassuring person to hear it from...Said father has been swallowed by a giant fish. You told that boy he's only going to see his father if he studies hard. You keep turning him into a puppet anytime he misbehaves. What did you expect, that he would do the Macarena every time he entered your house? I am honestly too shocked to say any more. What the fuck.
.
.
.
Okay, I've been enraged enough for a single night. Let's move onto brighter shores!
1) Enzo D'Alò's Pinocchio
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Enzo D'Alò knows what the fuck is UP!!! The only one with the courage to let the Fairy be a weird little girl - not only for a short time, but up until the end of the movie! That takes guts! Balls of steel!
I've said before that this movie has nothing memorable to it, and it's true, but also...Pinocchio wanted a sister so bad, and the movie gave him one. And they even explained the plot hole of the medallion with Pinocchio's face in it! That's twice as good as the fact that they cut out the most awful parts of her story, which is already delightful.
Thank you, Mr D'Alò. You have my trust until the end of days.
2) The Adventures of Buratino
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Speaking of weird girls, this one is officially balls to the walls enough to gain my respect. She's bothersome to Pinocchio, but she's bothersome to everyone and everything, so I'll let it pass. Her role is exclusively to appear out of nowhere and do batshit insane stuff for no good reason at all. A star.
Plus, other than having an handwashing obsession that I've felt very keenly in the past year and a half, she also has a boyfriend - her and Pierrot are the original girlboss and malewife, I'm not accepting any criticism on the matter.
(Fun fact: when I was a young kid I once dreamt that the Piccolino No Bouken Fairy was dating a big, buff and blonde farmhand. He wooed her by gifting Pinocchio a dog. Apparently I've always been very interested in Fairies getting a love life and staying the fuck away from my specialest little boy.)
3) Pinocchio miniseries
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"Serena, but you said you were disappointed in this adaptation so many times!" True. But consider: I am also very, very queer, and Violante Placido being motherly and wearing wispy dresses stirred SOMETHING in 11yo me that I can't very well ignore.
In hindsight, she and the Cricket probably had something going on behind the scenes, which is a shame. Miss Fairy, I swear, you could do better than Luciana Littizzetto in an ill-fitting green suit. She's gonna break your heart and lose your puppet charge in a crowd of little idiots. Do me instead.
4) Pinocchio Vampire Slayer
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This woman kills monsters - and she's damn good at it! Honestly, so badass, and such a good mother figure too, even in trying times. I don't want to spoil the comic much to those who haven't read it, but she and Cherry are the highlight of the first volume and I am very fond of them. A+.
5) Matteo Garrone's Pinocchio
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This one's book accurate, too, but Garrone did something with her that almost burst in tears in a crowded theater. She's awful, and irritating, but she's...she's so human, too. I can't rage against a Fairy that's so impossibly human even during the smallest of scenes. It breaks me over and over again.
Look at her SMILING, for pity's sake, am I supposed to think there's some warmth in the dead lady? Fuck you, Matteo, what did you do to me? I am an honored Fairy hater. You're going to ruin my reputation if you keep this up.
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jadekitty777 · 3 years ago
Text
On Your Six, Chapter 3
Day 3: Parenting for @taiqrowweek
Rating: T for this chapter, M for overall
Words: 5k
Summary: Qrow was what most of society would call a small-town criminal. But to those oppressed, he hoped only to be a healer. In an effort to make a change in the world, he moves from kingdom to kingdom, searching for branded omegas in need. His goal? To turn the derogatory words the reformatories forced them to bear on their skin into works of art.
Then one day, his past catches up to him in the form of Taiyang, his former best friend, with a brand of his own stained onto his skin and a plea for help in his eyes. Qrow has no choice but to answer, even if it means he’d have to face his mistakes once and for all.
[An ABO-style universe in a modern-day style Remnant. No Grimm, because people are the real monsters in this one]
Ao3 Link: On Your Mind
~
Early on in his career, Qrow had come to value the strength in listening.
He knew for every omega who walked through his door, he was a step in their healing process. It didn’t matter at what point in that process he was treading into; everyone came needing something. A sense of control. A desire to feel beautiful again. A need to shake off shame. No matter what it was, every reason was understandable and downright defensible.
But he knew his deed didn’t always end at the tip of a needle. Sometimes it wasn’t what was on their skin, but what was in their minds that weighed the most. Those were his talkers. The ones who felt so hurt or overcome by what had happened to them, they had to tell their story to someone.
So Qrow listened. He listened to the Mistrialian baker who tried to escape his abusive relationship by drugging his alpha one night and escaping into the night as the word Disloyal was overwrote. Erased Rebel as he was enraptured by the Rights Activist from Mantle who handed out self-funded newspapers all dedicated to lining out the inequalities among the dynamics. Nearly cried with the elderly Valian spinster who had been trafficked from her home in Vacuo decades ago to became the fourth wife of a rich proprietor as he made sure Owned could never be seen again.
Now today, he was turning the word SLUT into art as Tai recounted the love story that dared him to engage in one of society’s most taboo acts.
“So there I was, dragging my feet out of the ER at 2 AM, feeling like the worst parent in history as Yang bawls in my arms. I was so distressed, I couldn’t even remember where I’d parked and just started going through the rows.” They were sitting today. Tai cross-legged on his bed and staring out the window while Qrow sat behind him. “That’s when Summer called to me. She remembered I was one of the patients just going in as she got off her shift. She asked me what was going on and I told her how the doctor who’d seen us kicked me out for wasting his time over some diaper rash. And you know what she did?” A smile uplifted his tone. “She looked between me and Yang and said, ‘No parent spends five hours in the ER over nothing.’ Then she took my arm and led me back inside. Snapped at the staff to give her a room and saw to Yang herself. I couldn’t believe it. She’d just come off of a twelve-hour shift. She had to of been exhausted. But that was the kind of woman she was. When she saw someone who needed help, she put everything else aside to do it.”
A hiss breathed through the other’s teeth as Qrow lined over the base of the T, tailing the ends to look more like the trunk of a tree. “Were you right?” He prompted, hoping to distract him.
“Yeah. Yeast infection.” Tai puffed up proudly. “Nothing a bit of prescription cream and some TLC couldn’t fix, but it still felt so validating to be told my worries weren’t just in my head. It was the first time since Raven left that I felt I really could do this on my own.” That uplift was back, overlayed with fondness. “But, it was Summer who reminded me that just because I can, doesn’t mean I had to.”
He moved his pen higher, maple leaves beginning to bloom along his back. “How’d it happen?”
“Well, so, they called me in a few days after that night for a check-up. When I got there, I found out Summer had arranged things to make sure she was the doctor attending us. She had told me at the time it was just normal for her to touch base with anyone who came through ER that she had looked after. That it made her happy to see her patients doing well.” He barked out a laugh. “She was such a liar! She didn’t tell me this until later, but apparently the only reason she did it was because she thought I was cute and wanted to see me again.”
Tch, what a brat. Qrow scoffed, doggedly ignoring the had he been in her position, he absolutely would have done the same.
“We started talking and joking around. One thing led to another and suddenly she was asking me out for coffee! I was so shocked I almost fell out of my chair. But… I said yes. And, it was the best decision of my life.”
He couldn’t do this. He jerked back and turned off the pen before the shaking in his hand ruined his work. “Sorry. Hand’s cramping up. Can we take a break?”
Oblivious as ever, the omega gave him one of those stupidly bright smiles that he hated because it made his heart do weird things. “Sure.” As they slid off the bed and Tai took the opportunity to stretch, he asked, “How about tea?”
“Yeah, I’ll go put on the pot.” Qrow didn’t even get two steps before a hand clapped down on his shoulder.
“Nope. You’re resting.”
“But-”
“Relax. I got this.”
Then Tai wandered right into his kitchen like he owned the place, leaving him with no choice but to throw up his arms and take a seat. Qrow watched him go through the motions, turning to fill the kettle. From this distance, the word that had once been etched into his skin was completely unreadable, overtaken by a mismatch of new marks in various states of healing.
A perfect reflection of the man who bore them.
Regret dropped like a stone in his stomach, feeling sick as the omega took care of him over a lie. He lowered his head and took his punishment in the form of a simple question, “So when did you two get serious?”
“Hm? Oh, you mean Sums and I?”
“No, I meant you and me.” Qrow snarked, because he hated himself.
Tai set the pot on the stove, the burner sparking to life. “I knew we had a forever connection the day you offered to eat all the yellow Starburst from the bag and leave all the good flavors for me.”
Well now he was resentful and insulted. “Yellow is the good flavor.”
“Mmhmm, keep telling yourself that.” He started tearing open a pair of tea packets, dropping one each in the mugs. “Anyways, promise not to judge me too much?”
“For what, your love life or your weird issues with Starburst?”
“Qrow!”
He held up hand as a peace offering, leaning back. “Okay, okay. I promise.”
Tai eyed him suspiciously for several seconds before finally saying, “We bonded four months in.”
“FOU-” He cut himself off and took a breath. He seemed to have to do this a lot more lately. “I mean, that’s not so bad.”
“Good save.” Sarcasm dripped from his tone. “Look, I thought I was going too fast too. But when I would sit down and think of my future, I just could see her in it. Summer was a piece of me I didn’t even know I was missing. And when I found out she felt the same about me we decided, fuck it! Who cares about what everyone else is going to say? We knew we wanted each other.”
On display as he was, Qrow’s gaze fell to the spot on Tai’s neck where the two scars lay. The imperfect ovals were layered atop one another right in the juncture of his shoulder and collarbone, cutting through his scent gland. Similar to a snake’s fangs, alpha incisors had a hollow part, allowing them to release a bit of their musk during the bite which would then inject itself into an omega’s glands and permanently alter their scent.
Staking a claim.
Granted, with the tattoo he couldn’t smell even a hint of either Raven or Summer any longer. But back then, he could imagine how pungent it had been. Even if the new smell wasn’t a dead giveaway, the pinker shade of the fresher one was a big neon sign that drew the eye. There wouldn’t be any hiding it, even if the couple had tried.
Which meant they absolutely became the gossip of every corner on the street. Summer being well off and Tai being abandoned and annulled didn’t help matters in the slightest. He already knew what people would have thought, well before the brand was ever made.
He frowned. “Even knowing you’d get the worst of it?”
“Tch. Tell me something else that’s new.” Tai snipped, rolling his eyes. “You know, I could have been a perfect little omega. Quiet. Thoughtless. Unopinionated. Or I could have also spent the rest of my life as a part of the Single’s Forever Club. Risen Yang alone and never looked at another Alpha again. And you know what? People would still have shit to say about me. That’s what happens when society’s rigged against you.” He smacked his hand down on the counter. “When does my happiness matter?”
That stone still in his stomach was only getting heavier. “Sorry.”
The fire burnt out as quickly as it was there, and Tai only shook his head, mumbling, “Forget it. It’s whatever right?”
“It’s not. It’s fucking wrong.” He said with more fury than he meant to.
Tai’s smile was tired and defeated. “If only more people thought like you.”
The kettle whistle blew, effectively ending their conversation. It wasn’t long before Tai was taking his seat across from him, their mugs steaming on the table before them. Idly, Qrow traced the rim of his with his index finger, trying to think of something to say.
His focus shifted when a hand was suddenly being held out before him, clearly asking for something. “Uh?”
“Give me your hand.” Tai demanded.
His brain moved sluggishly, but when he understood what the other was offering, his face went redder than his eyes. “I, uh, need to drink my tea?”
“You’ve got a left one for that. Come on already.”
“It’s fine. It’s not that-” Any argument he had slipped away when he tried pulling his hand further away, only for the omega to reach over and snag it.
The simple touch was like electricity zinging through his muscles, leaving him helpless to resist as Tai laid his arm across the table. “You’re such a big baby.” He teased as he rolled up the cuff of Qrow’s shirt, pressing the pads of his fingers along the length of his forearm.
When the massage started, Qrow absolutely melted. While he hadn’t been entirely honest, it would still be true to say that he was probably working his way into an early case of carpal tunnel with how much tension built from his shoulder down to his wrist during his work. He sighed, slumping over the table as the other made his way up past his elbow. “I hate you.” He mumbled, face pillowed in his other arm.
“Yeah, I’m the worst.” Tai replied cheerily.
Gods, if only that were true, then maybe he wouldn’t love him as much as he did.
~
“I wish you could have met her.” Tai told him a little after sundown.
Qrow hummed questioningly, not pulling his eyes up from the midribs he was painstakingly adding onto every leaf. He felt like he was performing some sort of a balancing act, sitting on the edge of the recliner so he was close enough to draw while also trying to keep out of the beam of his scroll light pointed at them from his nightstand, since the weak 40 watt overhead just wasn’t bright enough to work with. There was a reason he never tattooed after dark.
“Summer.” Tai clarified, reminding him exactly why they were an hour behind. “You woulda liked her.”
He almost laughed at how inane that statement was. “Doubt that.”
“Really! She was sweet and a little shy. A bit of a rebel too. And I mean, she moved to Vale ‘cause she knew she could help more people in need for cheaper than the high end hospitals she could have worked in would charge.” He glanced over his shoulder as Qrow re-inked. “You gotta let that Atlesian stigma go, man.”
There really was no good way to answer that, so he didn’t bother trying. Gods only knew what Tai would have thought of him, if he found out the real reason they never would of gotten along was because Qrow didn’t believe he’d be able to resist his instincts a second time around. The ones that screamed at him to show Tai he was the more worthwhile mate, even if that meant delving things into a fistfight.
“I guess it doesn’t matter now.” The omega said when he caught on that he wasn’t going to get a response. “At least you’ll have a chance to meet Ruby. I warn you though, you’re totally going to fall in love. She’s got so much energy to her, like you wouldn’t believe. She giggles so much too, it’s the cutest little sound. And-! And…”
Pausing, Qrow flipped off the pen. “Tai?”
“S-Sorry.” He rubbed a hand over his face, clearing his throat loudly. “It just, hurts. Not knowing how they’re doing.” His voice broke. “I miss them.”
Not sure what else to do, he silently pressed his forehead against the base of Tai’s neck, mindful of his back as he wound an arm across his middle in a loose hug.
Knew, without a doubt, that it wasn’t nearly enough.
~
A year ago, when Qrow was working outside of Mantle for a spell, a client he’d never forget walked through his door. He was unusually broad-shouldered and buff, just like Tai. Yet, it wasn’t his physical attributes that truly made him stand out. It was the omega’s confidence.  He had a stride to him that exuded self-assurance and a stance that yielded pride.
It threw him completely off his game, as he was used to playing the role of consoler. Yet, as the omega held out his hand to shake, Qrow found himself wanting to compete against him. “You’re Harbinger. It’s a pleasure. I’ve heard a lot.”
“Only good things, I hope.” He replied, his grip firm and unyielding. “And you are?”
“Clover Ebi.” That name rang a bell, but he couldn’t place why. “And they were. You did a rebrand for a buddy of mine who lives over in the orange district. I was hoping you could do the same for mine.”
That brought some air to his sails as he found himself on more comfortable ground. “Yeah, ‘course I can. Why don’t you take a seat and I can get a gander at what I’m working with?”
“That’s the thing…” For the first time since he walked in, some of that boldness faltered. “If I show you, I need you to promise me not to freak out.”
Well, now he was really intrigued. “Come on. It can’t be that bad. Wait – it’s not on like, your ass cheek or something right?”
“You’re as crude as Robyn warned me you’d be.”
Qrow perked up at the name, remembering her as the outspoken journalist he’d looked after during his first stint in Mantle.
Clover placed a hand over his left bicep. “No, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s under this.”
“Okay then, what’s the proble- Oh, shit.”
His heart rate jumped from resting to cardiac arrest in record time at the sight of the brand – not a harsh word like so many others had been forced to bear, but a simple, cursive script of the man’s own last name. The mark of someone who was in service of the Atlas military.
Which meant he was probably being set up right now.
“Fuck!” Qrow stumbled backwards, looking around wildly for a weapon. An exit. Anything.
“Hey, it’s okay!” Clover followed after him, albeit at a slower pace. “Come on, you said you wouldn’t freak out.”
He picked up an umbrella, holding it en garde like his sister used to with her katana. “We’re way past that, buddy. So, what is this? A trap? Are a bunch more of you about to bust through my wall to take me in?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Will you just – put the umbrella down!”
He came within striking distance – so Qrow struck. A fast swipe at his face.
Clover didn’t even look as his hand shot up to catch it. With strength he wasn’t even trying to hide, he yanked the makeshift weapon right out of Qrow’s grip and tossed it over his shoulder. He caught the fist that came next, boxing him into the corner so that he didn’t have room to move. It was an oddly uncomfortable feeling, being pinned down and powerless.
But while the hold was solid it wasn’t tight, nor was Clover’s face aggressive. “Can you calm down, please? I didn’t come here to turn you in. I came here because I want your help.”
“Why?” He barked back. “You chose to take that mark. Feeling regretful now soldier boy?”
The omega’s expression shifted darkly. “The only thing I chose was to fight for my kingdom, because I believe in protecting the people. This mark is something I have to bear, if I want to pursue that goal.”
His hands slid off, giving Qrow some breathing space. As he stared at the other, suddenly it came to him. “Wait. Ebi. I knew I recognized your name. You made headlines recently. You’re the captain of Tin Jimmy’s specialty squad.”
It had been a huge sensation, an omega taking a leadership position like that. It was practically unheard of and people talked it up like it was a sign of the ‘changing times.’ But he had brushed it off as another one of the kingdom’s typical publicity stunts. They always had something or the other going on to turn the people’s heads – because if everyone was looking at Atlas, no one would see anything else.
“I don’t get it. Why?” His brow furrowed, trying to make sense of it.
“Because I represent something larger than just a captain of a team. I represent hope. The worst thing for us is when no one’s talking. And I sure got them talking.”
That made sense. Nothing changed if no one was having the conversation. Still… “Rebranding could get you decommissioned. Negative PR be damned.”
“Well, as they say: Sometimes you got to risk it all for a dream.” Clover said with a quirk of his lips. “So, will you help me?”
It was one of the most needlessly reckless decisions he had ever made, but he did. In two, relatively short sessions, they were done. He slept with one eye open every day in-between, but when they finished and Clover was instead urging him to keep his contact info (“Just in case you ever get in trouble.”), Qrow felt oddly at ease. Like maybe he truly did make a friend in all this.
He never questioned why the case never hit the news – but if he left Mantle a little quicker than normal, well, that was his business.
Now, as he hit dial on that old contact, he could only pray Clover at least was going to keep this part of his word.
He picked up after the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hey soldier boy.” Qrow started, trying to sound casual. “It’s Harbinger.”
A beat. Then, “Oh. Oh! Uh, two seconds okay?” There was a muffled bit of a noise and a faint, “I’ll be right back. Gotta take this.” A bit more shuffling and background noise as Qrow assumed he left the room, then Clover’s voice was back in his ear, surprisingly frantic. “What’s going on? Are you alright?”
“Yeah. Sorry, it’s not an emergency call.” He replied.
The omega let out a sigh of relief. It felt oddly nice to be worried about. “Oh thank Gods. So then, what’s up?”
“I was hoping you might be able to help me with something.” Qrow said, unconsciously pacing around his box-in-the-wall apartment. “Might be a longshot but, you got any connection with OPS?”
The OPS, or Omega Protection Services, were a kingdom-to-kingdom association that talked big about how they were dedicated to the proper care of the omega brethren in need. While in some veins of their work that was true, like funding lobbies for better rights in the system or providing financial support to those in trouble, it was equally true that under the table the organizations were fed big money from the reformatories to turn over a revolving door of clientele.
The biggest contributor of which was the Crisis Department. It was no secret that a death of a bond mate was devastating to an omega and there was a small percentage of those who became non-functional after the loss. Therefore, any omega known to have recently lost their mate was visited by an OPS agent. If the agent found the omega to be in such an extreme state, it was customary that the widow would be sent away for rehabilitation and any children would be rehomed either with known family or into a foster family until the parent was well enough to care for them again.
The key words being a small percentage. However, according to statistics, almost a quarter of all widowed omegas were in need of ‘reformation’. A percentage that went up or down depending on what kingdom was involved. Vale, their home country, was the only one underperforming on those numbers. By all accounts, Tai never should have gone to a reformatory at all.
The issue was the OPS agent assigned to the omega was from their alpha’s home kingdom. Which meant the agent that knocked on Tai’s door was from Atlas, the kingdom boosting the highest reformatory count by almost double any other one. They also had one of the strictest policies on how they rehomed children. Rather than even consider familial connections, they fostered all of them, claiming it would provide a more stable environment without the potential of an omega in probation from seeking them out and ‘influencing’ their young one’s minds before they were fully well.
All this to say it was almost impossible to know where Tai’s kids were unless he could talk to someone on the inside.
“I know someone who works out of there.” Clover said, before prying almost teasingly. “Why? Who are you looking for?”
Qrow realized too late that he probably should have expected this. “Don’t get any ideas!” He squawked. “I’m… trying to get some info on my niece. Nieces, actually. Just wanting to make sure they’re doing alright.”
“Oh.” Just like that, Clover was all business again. “Yeah, I can swing that. Just gonna need their names and ages, but it shouldn’t be too hard to find them. The names of their sires helps too.”
A sense of relief spread through him. “Yeah I can get that to you. I’ll message it.”
“Perfect! Should have something for you in a few days, okay?”
“Thank you Clover.”
“Anytime.”
It was only after the call ended and he’d written out the requested information, that it hit Qrow.
If he disclosed all this, it really wouldn’t be much further of a stretch for Clover to locate his own information alongside it. All these years on the lam potentially wasted in one single text message.
He flopped onto his bed with a groan, mussing a hand through his hair as the weight of the decision nettled him. Yet, as his thumb moved over to erase everything, his gaze unconsciously fell to his nightstand, where the pages of Tai’s designs were still resting. Thought of all the pain his friend still had to go to finish them, coupled with all he bore before this. Wouldn’t just a day of solace be worth it?
His thumb moved back up.
Sometimes you just had to risk it all, right?
Qrow hit send.
~
Tai smelt his anxiety the moment he walked through the door.
“Everything alright?” He asked, looking about the room as if he expected to find a portion of it on fire.
“Yeah, yeah.” Qrow assured, doing a very bad job of actually appearing alright as he fidgeted with his necklace. “I just have something I wanted to show you. Come here.”
“O…kay?”
Tai followed him over to his bed, sitting down beside him. It was more comfortable than the stiff plastic of the mismatched dining chairs at least, but now Qrow was also realizing it was painfully intimate. As he sat there, fighting the urge to just shove his scroll into the other hands, he realized maybe he should have planned this better. “So, I know this guy from Atlas, right? Someone on the higher end who has a lot of connections. And well, I asked if he might be able to check in on your daughters.”
“What?!” The omega gripped onto his arm, a sort of manic desperation dancing in his eyes. “Qrow, are you serious?”
He nodded, plucking his scroll off the nightstand and swiping over to his photo album. “Yeah and he was able to get me this from their file.” He handed the device over, seeing the way Tai eyes went wide. The photo was reportedly back from January, taken on some sort of outing the family had been on. The two girls were sitting in a sandbox, Yang pushing sand into a yellow bucket with her hands while Ruby watched her, biting on the end of the shovel that her sister probably should have been using.
“They’re with a beta family. An older couple whose kids have already left the house.” Qrow rambled as his friend just continued to stare at his children. “It’s a real nice place. Both the girls have their own rooms and there’s a backyard for them and everything. And the expense reports are showing their getting a nice, balanced diet and toys and even some learning, uh, things. Books and flashcards and all that fancy shit. And, well, uh – T-Tai?”
Tears dripped from the man’s chin, hitting the display of the scroll. “Yang’s in pigtails.”
“What?”
Tai lifted his head, eyes swimming. “I couldn’t get her to let me brush her hair most days, let alone put it in pigtails.”
“Tai…”
The omega brought the device to his chest, as if it was a suitable replacement for the children he’d rather hug. “And look at how big Ruby is now. She’s sitting up all on her own now. Probably walking.” He sobbed, a wretched, terrible noise that burst from something aching to his very core. “What else have I missed? Ruby has to be talking now. I didn’t even get to hear her first word. And Yang’s old enough to be in kindergarten – I should have been there to take her to her first day. But I wasn’t! I wasn’t there for any of it!”
Something in Qrow’s own heart shattered listening to the father’s anguish and he surged forward, gathering Tai up. Pulled him into a tight embrace as if it could protect him from all the hurt he had to bear.
“It’s not fair.” Tai cried into his shoulder. “It was awful enough, losing Summer. But then those OPS bastards came into my house, took one look at my marks and said I was unfit to raise my own kids! I felt so humiliated.” He clenched onto fistfuls of Qrow’s shirt, shaking hard enough he might just fall apart. “It’ll be almost two years by the time they give them back to me. They took those years away from me and I’m never getting them back!” He heaved over another sob. “What if they don’t even remember me Qrow?”
He ran his fingers soothingly through the other’s hair. “No one could forget you Tai. Not with that big, stupid, sunny smile a’yours. Those girls’ll take one look at it and go ‘there’s daddy!’. I just know it.”
It earned him a watery laugh that only delved into more tears. If he could have, Qrow would have torn up all of Atlas to find those pups and bring them back to Tai right then and there. As it was, there was little else he could do but hold him through it.
When the cries eventually turned to sniffles, Tai pulled away to wipe at his face. He looked a mess, eyes bloodshot and blotchy and red. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to lose it on you like that.”
“Think I should be the one saying sorry.” He cast a guilty glance to his scroll, which had fallen onto the bed at some point. “I just thought – I don’t know what I thought. Maybe I wasn’t.”
“Oh, no! Qrow.” Tai pat his knee reassuringly. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much it means to me to see them. To know you did all this for me.” He cast his gaze away, sighing. “It’s just, some days I feel like I’m drowning. There’s not a day that goes by I don’t think of my girls. Worry about them. But if I’m too emotional, suddenly I’m ‘too unstable’. So, I’ve been trying so hard to hold it together.”
Qrow’s jaw clenched. Becoming a professional arsonist was sounding better and better every day. “You don’t have to, not with me.”
“Heh. Even if I cry every day?”
“Cry every hour, if you need to.” He made an aborted gesture towards Tai’s hand. Touched his forearm instead. “Whatever you need, I’m here for you. Alright?”
Tai had no such inhibitions, his other hand laying down over Qrow’s, squeezing gently. “Thank you. I know I haven’t said it nearly enough, but I really do appreciate everything you’ve done. I don’t know how I would have gotten through these past few weeks without you.”
“You would have.” He said, doubtless. Tai was strong inside and out. He’d always admired that about him. “But, I’m glad I can help.”
Anything was worth bringing that smile to his face.
As if on cue, one stretched across Tai’s lips as he said, “I’ll pay you back one day, promise.”
One day, maybe Qrow would tell him he already had.
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persephonesfill · 4 years ago
Text
choke on me—chapter three
breathe me in (prequel fic)
chapter two
chapter four
a/n: no you did not read that wrong, this is chapter three. i’m not dead. 2020 did not kill me. this is a bit of a filler chapter but chapter four should be up before the month’s over. if not, yell at me, i won’t mind. 
rating: pretty gen this time but don’t worry chapter five is a goddamn trip
warning(s): n/a
—————
Despite being on opposite sides of the country, Tony and Pepper talk more often than people think. Pep’s an early riser, and Tony hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep since he was born, so it balances out. 
“I should tell you to go to sleep,” Pepper says, sighing. “But I miss the sound of your voice too much.” She’s sitting at the island, a cup of coffee in hand. She had pulled her hair into a bun and still has her reading glasses on, the red ones that she hates because she thinks she looks like someone's grandmother.
Tony loves seeing her like this. Loose and comfortable with him. After they broke up, a part of him worried that things would be strained between them. He should have known that was impossible.
“I don’t know whether to be happy or insulted,” Tony says. 
“Both,” Pepper says. “Your sleeping habits are abysmal.” 
Tony shrugs and takes a sip of his own coffee. He had always had issues with sleep. He woke up frequently throughout the night and would only start feeling sleepy around two in the morning to the point where attempting to sleep at all felt like a waste of time. Give him a cup of coffee with four shots of espresso, and he'd be good to go.
“You can’t deny that I’m more productive, though,” he says. 
“Okay, you do work hard,” Pepper admits, pursing her lips. “But you work too hard. When’s the last time you had a day to yourself that you didn’t spend in your workshop?” 
Usually, Tony's quick with a quip, but Pepper's question makes him pause. Last week, Steve asked Tony if he wanted to join him on his run around Bryant Park, and what had Tony said? "No." Like an idiot. It's not that he hadn't wanted to go; it was just that between SI and Avengers business and—
Tony was making excuses. Even he could see that. Hook-ups? Hook-ups Tony could do, specialized in, even, but Steve's question had ventured dangerously into "date" territory. The last time Tony had tried to seriously date was when he was with Pepper, and that had been a piping hot mess in the end.
"Tony? Hello?  I swear to God if you've just been using your life model decoy on me, I'm going to fly directly to Manhattan just to—"
"What? No!" He says, raising his hands. Hell hath no fury like a Pepper scorned. "I'm here, in the flesh. I just got...distracted. I guess I haven't really taken a day for myself."
Pepper sets her mug down and levels him with a stern look that puts him in the mind of a school principal.
"Tony," she says in that way of hers that usually means she's worried about him, and Tony's heart twists. "Is everything okay?"
Tony's not a liar, but he does believe in omitting information. 
"Everything's as good as I can hope for, Pep. I'm going to therapy, and I'm still taking my meds. You know how it is," he says, shrugging. "Some days are better than others." 
Pepper nods, looking a little less concerned, which is all Tony can ask for. "And the others? They're not bothering you?" 
It takes him a second, but Tony realizes that she's talking about the Avengers. He shakes his head. "They're fine. It's...weird living with so many people," he says. Tony had lived alone for half of his life now, aside from that brief stint in Malibu with Pepper. "They leave coffee grounds in the sink, and last week, Romanov and Barton convinced JARVIS to play Iron Man every time I went into my workshop and—" 
"You like them, don't you?" Pepper says. It's not a question. 
He does like them. The entire time he had been complaining about them, he knew his face had been stretched into a grin. 
"Maybe so. It's refreshing having another scientist to go mad with," he says, smiling devilishly when Pepper pales. 
"Oh, God, you've corrupted Bruce. There's two of you now."
"Okay, I take offense to that," he interjects. "Bruce keeps me in line, promise.” 
“Give him my thanks,” Pepper says. "Is it just Bruce? What about the others? How do you feel about them?"
He speaks without thinking, something you'd think wouldn't happen so often to a literal genius. "Steve's been...Steve's been good." More than good, actually.
Pepper raises a brow. "It's Steve now? What happened to Rogers? Capsicle? Any other one of your incessant nicknames?" 
He's been caught. Lying isn't even an option; Pepper would sniff out the truth like a bloodhound. She was like Natasha in that way. If those two ever team up again, Tony feels sorry for whichever poor soul they set their sight on. 
His only choice is to play it cool. "First off, you know you love my nicknames, case in point, Pepper," he says, knowing damn well she hadn't gone by Virginia since she started working for him. "And…it's Steve now. He's not so bad when you get to know him."
Pepper looks unconvinced, but mercifully, she lets it go. "Hmm. You guys are friends now?"
No. Never. Not even close.
"What can I say?" Tony gives her his cheesiest grin. "I wore him down." 
She rolls her eyes, but it's all in good fun. "Well, then, I'm happy for you. You deserve all the love that comes your way." 
"Ugh, don't get all sappy on me," he jokes, even though his heart spasms in his chest. He doesn't love the Avengers, and he doesn't—
He doesn't love Steve either. 
And they don't love him back.
Pepper's eyes soften. "Tell you what," she begins, "since you're so adamant on working too hard to have some fun, how about I do it for you?" 
Tony latches onto the change of subject like the lifeline it is. "What do you have in mind?" 
"Carmen Solomita is doing a fundraiser event for A Helping Hand. Does that sound up your alley?"
Carmen Solomita was an old friend from his prep school years. A fellow gifted kid, and the daughter of the iconic Italian husband-wife fashion designer duo, Isabela and Marcello Solomita, it was a no brainer that Tony and Carmen would become friends. 
She had followed in her parents' footsteps, designing luxury clothes and even starting her own separate fashion house right here in Manhattan. 
“What’s she doing this year?” he asks. 
“She’s organizing a week-long carnival in upstate New York for local orphanages. Think you or any of the others would be interested in working a booth?” Pepper says. “Having all of the Avengers show up would drum up a lot of publicity.” 
Tony furrows his brows. A carnival does sound fun, and he has no problems with running a booth. It’s the others that are a problem. 
“Don’t you think six, let alone one Avenger, would take away from the cause? And that’s if they even agree to it.” 
Pepper raises her hands. “Just throwing it out there. Again, you need a break. And think of the kids when they see your faces.” 
Tony’s face wrinkles. So, maybe, he has a soft spot for orphans. He still can’t help but feel like Pepper has some ulterior motive. 
“I’ll ask,” Tony says, caving. “And if they say no, I’m not forcing them to go. Tell Carmen she’s getting one Avenger, at the least.” 
“Yes! I knew you’d come around.” 
“I hate you.” 
“Love you too, Tony.”
***********
Tony broaches the topic of Carmen’s carnival at dinner and immediately braces himself for the worst. He’s not a pessimist by any means, but he sure as hell doesn’t expect the best from people whenever he asks them for a favor. 
There’s a pause as they take the time to ponder over what he said, long enough to make Tony squirm. 
God, why did he even ask? He should have just told Pepper that the others were all unavailable or—
“What kind of carnival?” Clint asks, breaking Tony out of his reverie. 
"I'm sorry," Tony blinks. "Are you actually considering this?" 
Clint shrugs. "What's not to like? Just want to know what we'd be doing." 
"Um, okay," Tony says. He's never, never been at a loss for words in his life, and yet...
"We'd just be running booths, meet and greets, that sort of stuff.  Nothing too crazy," Tony says. Pretty run of the mill stuff for a fundraising event.  
"And the charity, A Helping Hand, was it?" Natasha says. "One of yours?"
"No," he replies. "Carmen Solomita's. She's big on philanthropy, always trying to help out in some way or another. She's always been like that."
"Solomita?" Natasha asks. "Fashion designer Carmen Solomita?" 
"That's the one," he says, some of his initial anxiety ebbing away. They weren't saying no. Not yet. Or maybe they were just trying to let him down gently. 
"She an old flame of yours?" Clint says, and Tony tries to ignore how quickly Steve's head turns to look at him. 
"No," Tony says immediately, putting an end to any questions before they can begin. "We've been friends since high school. It'd be like dating my sister." Not to mention Carmen had known him when he had still been under five feet and had a mouth full of metal. Any attraction on her part had either never existed or died as soon as Tony had opened his mouth.
"Hm," Natasha says. Tony's still learning how to speak Natasha fluently, but it's apparently enough for Clint. 
"Alright, I'm in," he says. "Dibs on the sharpshooting booth."
"You can't call dibs on a booth," Natasha says, rolling her eyes. "And it's mine." 
"I'll arm wrestle you for it."
"No," Tony says, pointing a finger at them. "The last time you two arm-wrestled at this table, you split it in half. You'll be assigned whatever booth is available."
Clint grumbles something under his breath, and Tony closes his eyes. 
"I think you annoyed Mom," Natasha whispers, and really, for a spy, she sucks at being quiet. 
But if he was mom, who was dad?
"Enough, you guys," Steve says, backing him up. "Stop messing around." 
"Thank you," Tony says, massaging his temple, trying to stop his stress headache before it begins."It's like having children." 
"Am I your favorite?" Clint asks with a shit-eating grin on his face. 
"No, it's Bruce," he answers immediately, his voice deadpan. 
"...You answered that insultingly fast." 
"You asked," Tony says. "Speaking of Bruce, Brucie, you've been quieter than normal. What's going on in that brilliant head of yours?"
Tony doesn't want to put him on the spot, but he knows Bruce will just try his best to brush his problems under the rug. 
Bruce is staring down at his plate, poking absentmindedly at his pasta with his fork. "I don't think I should go," he says. 
"And why not?" Thor, of all people, asks. The god levels Bruce with a heavy stare. "You deserve to amuse yourself like the rest of us."
"Is that a joke?" Bruce says, throwing his fork down, sending it clattering against his plate. "Do you really think unleashing a big green rage monster at a carnival with children present is a bright idea?" 
"Where's this monster you speak of?" Thor says. "I don't see one."
"Come on," Bruce mutters. 
"I don't see one, either," Tony says. "I see a genius nuclear physicist who moonlights as an equally amazing superhero." 
"And I see a kind, honest man who would never harm anyone intentionally," Steve says, jumping in. 
Bruce purses his lips but based on the flush spreading across his face, Tony can tell they're wearing him down. 
Oddly enough, it's Natasha who reels him in. "I've seen a lot of monsters in my life, Banner. You're not one of them." 
Bruce chuckles, but it's not a happy sound. Tony's familiar with it enough to know that it's chock full of bitterness. 
"I'll be there with you," Thor says, his voice a soft timber. "I won't let anything happen to you. None of us will."
"...It's not me you should be worrying about," Bruce says. "But...if you're going...I guess it'll be fine." 
Thor smiles, looking every inch the god he is. "We'll have a grand time, Doctor Banner."
Dinner ends quickly after that, the others petering off until it's just Steve and Tony left sitting at the table. 
Tony's glad the Avengers are helping him out, honestly. It's just...the thought of six Avengers...around young, impressionable children…
"Oh, God," he says aloud, burying his face into his hands. 
He can hear Steve stand up, rounding up the dishes left behind. "It's not going to be that bad," he says. 
"We don't know that," Tony says, his voice muffled. He looks up to see Steve raising a judgmental brow at him. "I'm letting not one, but two master assassins, the Hulk, and a fucking god, interact with children." 
"They'll be on their best behavior," Steve says. "Thor said he'll keep an eye on Bruce, and I know for a fact that wherever Clint goes, Natasha's gonna follow and vice versa."
"And that doesn't worry you?"
"No, because I actually have faith in our teammates. Clint's not gonna peg a kid with an arrow just because he feels like it. He's not the type."
Tony sighs but damn it, Steve's right. He's always right. Tony doesn't know much about Clint's life before SHIELD and the Avengers, but he knows it wasn't pretty. Seemed to be a common theme amongst their little team. 
"Must have a shitty parental figure in order to be a superhero," he thinks to himself. 
He rises out of his seat and grabs the few dishes that remain. Tony helps Steve load up the dishwasher. He tries not to think about how domestic it all feels, how it's practically become routine for Tony and Steve to look after the others and put away their dishes. He doesn't know what it means, but he has the strangest feeling that Pepper is smiling to herself halfway across the country.
***********
Carmen's beyond delighted when Tony gives her the good news over the phone the next day. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Her voice still does that weird squeaky thing when she gets really excited. 
"One more thank you, and you're going to rupture my eardrum," he says, holding his phone to his ear. He's making breakfast, which for him consists of swiping a yogurt cup and spoon from the kitchen. 
"I'll stop shouting," she says, which is a complete lie. "I just can't believe the Avengers are going to be at my fundraiser!" Case in point. 
There's still that gnawing pit in his stomach at the thought of the Avengers running rampant around a carnival, but they could use the publicity. Maybe it'd calm down some of those Daily Bugle conspiracy theorists who thought that the Avengers were Chitauri shapeshifters who actually started the invasion. Tony has a video of J. Jonah Jameson screaming about it saved to his phone whenever he needs a good laugh. 
"I know, I'm amazing," Tony says around a mouthful of yogurt. 
"You are, and I will literally owe you for the rest of my life," she replies. 
"I want your firstborn child," Tony says.
"Done," Carmen says without missing a beat. "That's how serious I am." 
He can't help but chuckle to himself. Talking to Carmen was always so fun. She had the same (admittedly dorky) sense of humor as him. He remembered the days when they sit in the back of their homeroom, laughing at each other's stupid jokes over the morning announcements while their teacher gave them death glares. They kept in touch after graduation but not enough for Tony's tastes. 
"But seriously, how does it feel to be a superhero? You guys all live together, don't you? Oh my God, you're just like firefighters. Do you have a little pole you slide down when there's an emergency? Ooh, is there an alarm—"
"Carmen, cool it before you pop a blood vessel," he says, mentally filing away the idea to add a pole leading directly to the tower's hangar. "And I promise you can grill them when you see them at the carnival." 
"I'm holding you to that, Stark."
"Figured you would." 
"Smart boy," Carmen says. "Any questions, comments, or concerns you want to pass along?"
"Actually," Tony begins, his brain chugging along at its usual speed of light. "I have some requests…"
Two weeks later, the look on everyone else's face when Tony presents them with the matching t-shirts he designed is more than worth the hour of alone time he promised her with Natasha. 
“She’s so mysterious,” Carmen had said over the phone. “Tony, I need to see if she’s as calculating as she comes off.” 
“Why,” he had said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why would you do that?” 
“Because I’m bisexual and have no sense of self-preservation. It’s why we’re friends,” she had chirped. 
He didn't blame her, though. Had he not jumped at every chance to hook up with Steve like his teenage self would have wanted? 
"Is this another one of your strange Midgardian customs?" Thor says, holding the t-shirt out in front of him. They're done up in his signature hotshot red, of course with Carmen's charity, A Helping Hand on the front, but the back is the real masterpiece. Under the words, Super Helper was a personalized emblem meant to represent each one of the Avengers. Mjolnir for Thor, Cap's Shield for Steve, a bow and arrow for Clint, and so on so forth. 
"...Is it weird that I kind of actually like these?" Clint whispers to Natasha, who's tracing the lines of her hourglass on her shirt. 
"You would like them," she says. 
Tony blinks. "I can...get us normal shirts?" 
"Nope, too late," Clint says, shrugging his shirt on over the long sleeve he had been wearing. "I've already grown attached.” 
Tony looks at each of them head-on, noting the way Natasha’s slender fingers dance over the cotton and Thor’s curious gaze as he inspects the true to life runes Tony had painstakingly copied from the real-life Mjolnir. Bruce looks at the fist clutching the beaker on his shirt like it holds all the secrets to the universe, and Steve—Steve’s not looking at the shirt at all. He’s looking at Tony. Of course, he is. 
Tony's always liked puzzles, and right now, the biggest puzzle of them all is what exactly made Steve's face go slack, his eyes all clear and soft and staring directly at him. 
Tony shakes his head, clearing his head of puzzles and Steve and piercing stares. 
"So," Tony says, "we're good to go?" 
Later on, when they're all piled into Tony's limo like they're going on a field trip, Steve texts him even though they're sitting right next to each other. 
It's just four words, but it's enough to make Tony blush. He facepalms, under the pretense of annoyance at something one of the others had said. 
"I'm proud of you," follows him all the way to upstate New York.
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loquaciousquark · 5 years ago
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Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E91 (Jan. 21, 2020)
Good evening, everyone! Sorry about missing last week; @eponymous-rose​ was out of town and I had some other commitments. Regardless, here we are! Brian is looking handsome and cold, as are Sam & Travis on the couch. Everyone is wearing coats. Is the heat broken?
That said, tonight’s guests are Travis Willingham & Sam Riegel.
Brian starts us off asking Sam if he’s remaking the Wire in Beverly Hills. Sam basically embodies that hello fellow kids meme tonight in a hand-knitted beanie from his wife, a bomber jacket, a yellow tee, and skinny jeans. They quickly photoshop in smoke trailing out of his mouth. We’re just a few minutes in and this is off the rails already.
Announcements: The next issue (#5) of Vox Machina comics comes out Wednesday, Feb. 19! It’s also available online at Dark Horse Digital and Comixology. And that’s it! Huh.
Episode 91: Stone to Clay
Brian tells us this is the first time ever to have Sam & Travis alone on Talks. I’m stunned and so are they. Sam says, “between me, Brian, Dani, and Travis right now, there’s four tens on this show right now.”
We’re already into questions less than ten minutes into the show. Truly this is a remarkable night.
63 in game days and 21 episodes passed between Caduceus’s first mention of Stone (episode 71) and Fjord connecting the dots. Travis blames the internet connection and his really bad ADHD night, as that was the night he and Laura remoted in from the hotel.
Brian tells us that when Ashley used to skype in, she could only see Matt & couldn’t see or really hear anyone else.
Travis says there was a huge delay for him between mouths moving and the audio coming through, and then that audio was pretty distorted. Laura could handle it okay, but Travis just heard a jumble and couldn’t parse it.
Sam took a CBD bath the other day and found it exactly as relaxing as a normal bath. Sam & Travis commiserate about taking baths only to have their knees pop out of the water. Tall people problems smh
Caleb & Nott completed the spell in less than a week, including dealing with the Angel of Irons & brokering peace treaties. Travis though the laughter was going to be Helas.
Travis says he definitely didn’t hear the name the first time (he remembered dust but not stone from the lava pits). “Look! Yes! No, I was not listening before! Thursday nights are my times to enjoy my friends and food! Marisha is an amazing note-taker; why would I ever take my own? This is how I got through college!”
Sam says he keeps a mission checklist in his head and has for ages. He has a page in his notebook labeled “To Do” that includes things like visiting Kiri or Shakaste, in case they have downtime and need ideas.
Travis asks if he continues writing in his (apparently) very small handwriting, and Sam says he has to leave room for Laura to draw all her dicks. They all marvel that she is actually a very good artist.
Travis honestly still thinks the Stone name is a huge coincidence, especially since Taliesin didn’t have access to Fjord’s last name when he created Caduceus’s last name and backstory. Sam challenges Travis that even if that were true, doesn’t he think Matt will find a way to tie it together?
Travis says Fjord doesn’t want anything to do with the last name and it’s not even his real name. He’s not convinced this isn’t a coincidence.
Travis did a lot of research into orphanage naming conventions when coming up with Stone. He does have a backstory as to how the orphanage manager picked Stone as his name.
Travis thinks Matt would have emphasized the Stone name more sooner if it had been a true connection and not coincidence.
Brian: “He does like to take credit for coincidences, doesn’t he?”
Nott didn’t think there was a catch in the ritual; Sam was more surprised they were allowed to achieve the milestone at all. He was shocked it happened so soon in the story and that the spell is relatively easy to cast.
He didn’t know it would fail, but there was a moment when he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go through with it. Travis agrees everyone was shocked when it didn’t work.
Fjord’s current stance on faith and destiny hasn’t changed since the last time he discussed it. Faith is a slow thing for Fjord and he really does think the name is a coincidence.
Sam as a player is excited to see what comes next for Nott; “if she had been transformed into Veth at that moment, I would have been excited to see what comes next. The fact that it’s still Nott makes me excited too. I’m excited to see more of Nott since she’s the best character in the M9.” He also confesses he was a bit relieved, in part because it’s delayed the inevitable. At some point she must decide if she is going to stay or go with the M9.
Cosplay of the Week: @kajicosplays​ on instagram of a lovely lady Percy. Brian: “Isn’t it fun when Taliesin’s characters live?”
Deep down, Nott knows she will do the transformation at some point, but at that last moment where she had to make a decision she had to check in with herself to make sure she was ready. Sam Riegel as a D&D player also knows that you have to trust your DM and make choices.
Brian misreads the word “ribbing.” Sam teaches Travis what rimming is. We all learn a lot about each other.
Sam thinks Fjord can realize when the time comes to set jokes aside. He thinks Fjord was very respectful. Travis has honestly forgotten that the conversation took place.
Travis has Dani answer from Fjord’s perspective. It’s actually pretty insightful, talking about how Fjord recognized someone hesitant to give up these newfound powers that have become intrinsically tied to self-worth.
Fjord has always been loyal, and Travis sees his protectiveness of the M9 as a logical extension of this.
Right now, he has found some agency & self-direction and is hopeful to share that sense with everyone else (he especially mentions Yasha).
Sam & Travis start quoting from Half-Baked. This is chaos.
Nott does want to stay with the M9, but she also wants to go home for sure, both of those things. The kiss with Caleb wasn’t necessarily a goodbye; it felt like the closing of a chapter. It felt like something to mark the end of the experience.
Now they’re quoting Beverly Hills Cop. Oh, boy.
“You look like you wrote Pitch Perfect.” When did this turn into a roast?
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Fjord has no memories earlier than the orphanage (The Driftwood Asylum). There were a couple dozen kids there aside from him; Travis thinks some of them might have been named Stone. It also operated as a small child-labor workshop for carpentry & woodshop stuff. “It was a terrible place all around.” He has no images of parents or being dropped off.
Sam thought the Nott transformation would be more endgame, though he feels it makes sense that it’s not. “While Nott transforming into Veth was my original goal, what’s great about these long games is that your goals can change two or three times before the end. Now I can explore all these other things: does she want to go back and be a housewife? How does she rectify her obligations to her husband and child to the life that she’s made with the M9? It’s so exciting and interesting.”
Brian asks a hypothetical: if she could transform back but lose all Nott’s memories, would she do it? Sam: “Oh, that’s tough. I don’t know.”
Fanart of the Week: a lovely piece by @pen_draws with everyone in the hot tub.
Travis is very trepidatious about returning to the open ocean after rejecting Uk’otoa. He wants to make sure the third temple is sealed. It feels like it would be too easy for someone not to come and try to collect the job he left half-finished. He also wants to go back to Darktow.
Sam doesn’t know if Nott is still in love with Yeza, although she definitely still loves him. He’s playing with the idea of a high school sweetheart being exposed to the world and then going back home. But Yeza’s amazing, a great guy, perfect. “I guess we’ll find out when/if she turns back into Veth.” Sam feels guilty talking about him. “He’s a fictional character and I feel guilty that he might be watching the show.”
Neither Nott nor Fjord trust Essek. Travis: “He just went from being cold and aloof to being really warm. I know there’s been time and he’s lived an isolated life, but...time will show if he’s being genuine. All of our haunches were up. All of us were on level five alert.” He’s being so helpful that Travis doesn’t trust Mercer with him.
Fjord never ever considered becoming a paladin of the Traveler. “No. Fuck no!” The Wildmother reached out and directly intervened to save him. Travis gets super creepy bad vibes from the Traveler’s relationship with Jester (Sam agrees).
Nott feels more pressure when her own problems become the focus. It’s hard for her to open up and talk about her feelings. She’d rather pick up on other people’s problems. Sam also acknowledges it’s more pressure on him (and anyone) as a player when the whole table is looking at you.
And that’s that! Is it Thursday yet?
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halothenthehorns · 3 years ago
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THE EGG AND THE EYE
Despite Remus' rather tired eyes as he never enjoyed being active any days preceding or following the full moon, and it wasn't helping the ever growing fear of the next task creeping closer, Remus wouldn't deny he couldn't think of how better to be spending his time as he got started.
Harry wasn't sure how long this bath would take, so he chose to do it after school hours so he could take his time.
"You make it sound so difficult to lock a door," James shook his head.
"I think he's just making up excuses for using that Prefect bathroom, and after hours is the best time," Remus smirked.
Harry ignored them both.
Though still not wanting to take any advice from that Hufflepuff, Harry also chose to use the prefects' bathroom, at least fewer people were likely to be in there.
Harry grumbled something about how he still wasn't going to admit they were right, it's not like he'd wanted to go in there just because he'd heard rumors about how cool that place was, and they couldn't force him to say otherwise.
  Harry had to be careful with this excursion, he'd been caught out of bed by Filch once before,
"The fact that you've only been caught once is what gets to me," Sirius shook his head fondly.
"By our fourth year we'd caught up with him as much as any teacher," James agreed.
"And you only got caught that time because you forgot the cloak," Remus snorted. "If you'd paid attention a little more, even then you would have gotten away with it."
Harry wasn't sure if they were teasing him for not being as trouble making as them again, or trying to mock him for that experience again, either way he chose not to answer.
and had no want of a repeat. He made sure to have his Invisibility Cloak on him,
"At least he'll remember it this time," Lily reminded to get the boys to stop smirking.
and the Marauders Map.
"The two kind of go hand in hand," Remus agreed.
On Thursday night,
"Why did you wait almost a whole other week?" James asked.
"Homework," Harry used as a main excuse, but also adding, "plus I spent a few nights making sure I could walk down there and scout the place out without getting caught."
"Look at you, finally showing some forethought," Sirius praised.
Harry slipped through the common room much like he had the night he'd gone to visit Hagrid, waiting for Ron to open the portrait hole to get out.
"Still think that one's a bit too paranoid on your part," Remus rolled his eyes. "No one ever pays much attention to that."
Harry made his way down to the correct door, whispered the password, and stepped inside before locking the door behind him. His first impression was it would be worth being a prefect just to use this bathroom regularly.
"Well now you can without the responsibility," Sirius smirked.
"You're lucky you never got caught in there," Remus reminded him, "or I would have most likely gone down with you. Then of course I would have had to pay you back for getting me into trouble."
Sirius had a challenging smirk in place as he stated, "wouldn't be the first, wouldn't be the last."
Candles softly lit the marble chamber, a large rectangular shallow pool filled the main portion of the room with a hundred golden taps all around the edge each encrusted with a different jewel, along with a diving board.
Harry's mind was starting to gape a bit at such grandeur. A diving board for a bathtub! The splendor of the castle had always seemed like a lot to the boy from the cupboard, but this new leap of wealth still somehow managed to surprise him.
Fluffy towels were in a cubby in the far wall, and opposite that was the stained glass image of a blonde mermaid fast asleep.
Then Harry felt a zap pelt his brain, now blinking spastically as he was sure that should have meant something more to him, but was instantly distracted by Remus trying to cover up some laughter. He quickly smothered it and explained for Harry, "I don't know who conjured up that image, but it's the farthest thing from what Merpeople actually look like."
Harry was very sure that news shouldn't have come as a surprise to him, but simply nodded in understanding.
Harry's footsteps echoed a bit as he walked up the few steps leading to this, and though he was very impressed and aching to try all those taps, now that he was here he was more sure than ever Cedric might be playing him.
Remus was suddenly distracted as well from Harry getting to find this new place, to his mind spinning back to that noise again and why Cedric would have lead Harry hear. Water, in the Prefects bathroom, it couldn't have anything to do with that particular painting of the mermaid? He'd only ever heard descriptions of them, but apparently they had a beautiful singing voice, underwater. Above water it was a senseless high pitched noise. He was immensely curious to know if this had been what Cedric had figured out, but even if it was, what would the second task have to do with Mermaids? They were bottom dwellers, even in the Hogwarts lake they were only rumored to have come to the surface once in the school's history. He kept the thought to himself for now until he was more sure of this.
How was this place going to help him solve his egg?
He was already here, so he decided to enjoy himself anyways, setting all of his stuff aside as he got to work. Every tap shot out water the perfect temperature he wanted, and each was also mingled with magical bubbles. One set such a thick foam Harry could have sat on it, another left a purple mist hanging just above the surface, Harry's favorite was the one that shot patterns in the water's surface.
"I used to spend hours playing with all of those taps," Lily agreed fondly. "Sometimes I'd even drain the water again just to watch them fill all over again."
After a surprisingly short time to fill, Harry slipped inside and treaded water for a bit, his feet barely touched the bottom.
Harry was surprised at his own daring at that, as he'd never learned to swim. Though he supposed being in there by himself was a good way to practice and it didn't seem deep enough that so long as he didn't try anything foolish he shouldn't have a problem.
After a few laps, Harry went back to the edge and picked up his egg, but still had no new revelations for it. Even opening still created the same cacophony, if not worse because of its new echo. He'd been leaning over the side concentrating so hard, he dropped the egg with a start when someone spoke,
All five of them couldn't help but startle a little as well. That's all Harry needed, to get caught and in trouble on top of this tournament mess.
telling him to put the egg in the water.
"Guess that's better than, what on earth are you doing in here," James raised a surprised brow, trying to figure out who'd catch him there and not tell him off.
Harry swallowed a large amount of bubbles in surprise as he spun around, seeing a ghost sitting on a nearby tap.
"Oh hey, Myrtle's back," Sirius said, relaxing back at once.
"Why is she in there?" Lily demanded around a squeaky voice, her hand already twitching like she was going to cover her modesty now.
"We told you she went snooping through some of the other bathrooms," Remus snorted at her surprise. "Why would you think this one was excluded?"
"Did she really spy on me though?" Harry couldn't help but fidget at such a perversion of privacy.
"Well yeah," Sirius couldn't help but give Harry a sad little smile, "but I like to at least pretend she closed her eyes while you were changing."
Harry still couldn't help a disgusted shiver, even with his memory finally being soothed of why he'd wondered he would run into the ghost again in another bathroom, this wouldn't have been his choice of moments.
It was Moaning Myrtle.
Harry yelled at her in shock, stating he wasn't wearing anything! The surrounding water was thick enough this wasn't the point, but Harry suspected she'd been around longer than he'd been in.
Myrtle told that she'd had her eyes closed when he got in,
Even with Myrtle having said it herself didn't make the shivers quite stop.
and then reminded how he hadn't come to see her in ages.
"Can't imagine why," James scowled at the reminder of that Chamber. Myrtle used to be something funny to think about, she was always a good laugh and sometimes even helpful considering all the times she'd spied on people in the bathrooms and if cajoled right she'd pass along the information. Now all he could think about in relation to that ghost was a basilisk fang.
Harry floundered for a moment, still keeping his knees bent so all Myrtle could see was his head,
Sirius wanted to make a comment about that, but actually managed to restrain himself with Lily still looking flustered and her husband in the room.
before reminding he wasn't supposed to be in there, it was a girls one.
"Bit of a pointless thing to say after spending half a year in there," Remus snickered.
Myrtle reminded he didn't use to care, he'd been in all the time.
"Not for the exclusive company though," Harry muttered.
While that had been true in his second year, this was only because of the private location so they could brew a secret potion. Aloud he told her that he'd been caught for going in there, which was half true, Percy had once told them off for coming out.
"Yeah, and I know how you always listen to everything Percy says," James stated with the utmost sincerity.
Fibbing he hadn't gone in after that.
Myrtle was not impressed as she switched back to telling Harry to put the egg in the water, that's what Diggory had done.
"How often does she spy on people in there?" Lily demanded, her voice still a little too pitchy than normal, the Marauders were taking this far to casually in her opinion.
"Don't know, never kept a record of her or anything," Remus shrugged.
"Often enough it wasn't exactly a surprise if we found her in there," James couldn't help but laugh a bit at his wife's continued squeamishness over this. She was just a harmless ghost, he was honestly convinced she did it more for attention than pervy intent.
Harry demanded how often she spied on people?
Myrtle just said sometimes, though Harry was the first she'd spoken to.
"Because that's so much better," Lily groaned. "How did you know she was there then?" She asked of the boys.
"If Harry had been keeping his eye on the map, he would have seen her show up," Sirius reminded.
"How on earth does that thing work," Lily demanded of them. "Ghosts aren't alive, why would she register?"
"The Homunculus charm," Remus said like that explained everything.
Lily looked honestly surprised, but Harry had no clue what that was so she told him, "the charm marks where everyone is in a specific location so long as they have even a vague human mind. Like the ghosts and Peeves would be included," she added on for herself. "It just never occurred to me that was the spell they used, because I could never find the incantation, just mentions of it in old texts."
"Sirius found it in a book from his house," Remus shrugged.
"There's a lot of musty old stuff in that place," Sirius rolled his eyes, "I got bored and looked through it at one point, came back and found it a few years later when it actually came in handy."
"Would the basilisk have shown up on the map?" Harry asked, thinking normal pets like Crookshanks never had, but then Mrs. Norris had so was the giant snake stretching it?
"Nope," James stated, "not human like enough."
"So how come Filch's cat's on there?" Lily demanded of them.
"She got her own separate charm to track her," Sirius grumbled, "we realized that mistake and added it after the fact."
Harry sarcastically snapped back how honored he was, telling her to keep her eyes shut as he crawled out.
He made sure she wasn't looking as he dried off and went after his fallen egg, then set his towel aside again and slipped back in. Myrtle looked up after that, repeating for him to stick the egg in the water.
Remus was instantly distracted from his old pet project and was now much more focused on seeing if his idea was right. He couldn't think of too many other creatures that this would apply to...
Harry opened the seal beneath the surface, but among the new bubbles no screeching echoed underneath, instead Harry could swear he heard gurgling singing.
"Oh," Remus smiled in triumph at the exact moment the other three stated in surprise.
Harry gave an agitated little sigh, he was sick of always being the one things to had to be explained to, but didn't question it as he had a gut feeling he'd come to his own conclusions on this soon enough and watched impatiently as Remus happily yelped, "it's mermaids."
"What does that have to do with a triwizard task?" Sirius demanded grumpily, the first one had been bad enough, and this wasn't starting off much better. Those creatures were rumored to be as vicious and territorial as dragons, with the added bonus of drowning their victims to death rather than setting them on fire.
"No clue," James tried to shush him and wave him quiet so he could hear this.
Myrtle told Harry he had to be underwater as well to hear the words, and when Harry hesitated she got a bit bossy by telling him to get one with it.
"Guess she doesn't get the opportunity much," Lily grumbled, though even she was finally distracted from the ghosts habits to pay attention to this.
Harry took a deep breath before ducking down as well, and finally heard:
Insert mermaid song
"That, was not encouraging," Remus' smile slipped right off his face as the full impact of the challenge sank in.
"Hang on, read that again," James requested, sure he'd heard a bit wrong.
Remus obliged, to the now stunned faces of the others.
"What's this on about an hour?" Lily demanded as she began biting at her lip at once at the thought. "What are you looking for?"
"Another bit to lead you to the last event I guess," Sirius sighed, but even as the worry started flooding him he couldn't deny at least this sounded more bearable and doable than the first.
"I'm still stuck on that part where they took something," James grumbled, running his hand through his hair in thought. "Are you looking for two things, or is the challenge personalized?"
"I really don't like the sounds of this," Remus groaned the more he thought about it. "They're only giving you a pinch more information than the first time, and it still seems as deadly as ever." He was still categorizing everything he'd ever heard about mermaids as well as aquatic life in general, none of it exactly pleasant, and all very hard to deal with inside the water where only a few select spells worked properly.
"Let's look on the bright side," Lily tried to keep their attention. "Least now he has something to work with, and I'm sure Harry'll figure it out," she gave him a winning smile at the end.
Harry wasn't as sure as her, unable to erase the nasty feeling that this was hardly his favorite challenge and he'd still take the dragon back, but didn't argue the point either.
Harry came back to the surface for air, tried to recite it, but then had to go under a few times before he got it right. Then he set the egg to the side again, and began swimming a few laps as he thought it all out.
Myrtle called him slow for not guessing who this could be about, while smirking down at him.
"No," Remus snapped at once, as he'd noticed that look on Harry's face. It must be annoying to constantly have things explained to him, then and now with his lapse of the magical world, but that was hardly his fault as he stated, "it's not exactly a common problem for many wizards, I'm positive it'd be just as hard to work out for the other champions."
"You guys figured it out in like, a second," Harry grumbled.
"We," James quickly corrected as he gestured at first Sirius and himself, "have a running expert on all things beast," now waving vaguely at Remus who was squinting at him like he was trying to decide if that was supposed to be insulting or a compliment. Knowing James, a combination of both. "So we know a bit more about it than the typical person."
"I didn't get it until he said it," Lily shrugged as she jabbed her thumb at Remus as well, "I was just surprised you could suddenly hear it underwater."
Harry did at least feel marginally better his mother had at least been on the same page as him for most of it.
Harry hadn't seen Myrtle this cheerful since Hermione had a tail.
"There's a fond memory," Sirius couldn't help but laugh, the magical mistakes people could do to themselves had always endeared him.
Harry ignored her as he kept up his swim, puzzling together that whatever this was must have something to do with a creature underwater if that's where you could hear the voice. He realized he was speaking aloud when Myrtle agreed that had been Diggory's conclusion, it had taken him ages to put this together.
Harry mostly ignored her, his eyes still on the water as he asked what else was in the lake besides the giant squid? Myrtle was not happy with the answer that there were all sorts, she'd been flushed down there from time to time.
All five of them made spluttering noises of disgust at that!
"Are you telling me the plumbing empties into the lake!" Sirius demanded, going a little green at the thought. "I thought it was just banished once it left the pipes. We never found where they exited off, so-" he cut himself with a retch.
"Great, and I used to go swimming in that," James groaned, his skin starting to crawl.
"I like to think Sirius was half right," Lily had her nose crinkled so much she looked like she was imitating a pug. "Surely it goes through some sort of magical cleaning system. There are creatures like the giant squid living in there who would get sick from that."
"Let's just move on," Remus grumbled, not really wanting to sit around thinking about it.
Trying not to think about Moaning Myrtle zooming down a pipe to the lake with the contents of a toilet.
"Can't imagine why you wouldn't want to paint that picture," Sirius muttered to find some amusement again.
Harry instead looked around himself again, his eyes landing on the painting of a human voice coming out of the water, like the mermaid.
"You see, that's a brilliant deduction," Lily smiled.
"I probably never would have got there without that painting," Harry tried to brush off.
"But you did," James rolled his eyes, "so take the compliment."
Harry muttered something that didn't quite mask the pleased look on his face at his parents complimenting him.
Harry asked if she'd seen any of those down there, and Myrtle praised that had been what Diggory got to in the end, but he'd taken hours and that was with her awake.
Harry's pleased feelings increased into a full blown smirk, unable to really beat away that pride that he'd done something faster than Diggory. Then he got an intense curling feeling in his gut, and Harry was once again wondering why his own jealous feelings at Cedric really hurt like that.
Harry was suddenly bubbling with his own excitement as he was sure he'd got it, the second task was to go into the lake and find merpeople!
His happiness drained as suddenly as if someone had pulled the plug in this tub. Harry could hardly swim.
Sure a bit of floundering in his water was easy, but while Dudley had taken lessons in his youth, his aunt and uncle had never ponied up the money for him, most likely hoping he'd one day drown.
"Oh thank you for that lovely bleeding reminder," Lily narrowed her eyes nastily, all of them having to fight down the urge to go drown those people in a bathtub.
Harry spoke his problem aloud to Myrtle, asking how he was supposed to breathe?
Harry looked around expectantly, to find they looked rather stumped at the thought.
"That, is a remarkably good question," Lily frowned, fidgeting with a lock of her hair as she cast her mind around for a spell or potion she could lock on. There was a potion that would temporarily give him gills, as well as some transfiguration, but those were advanced, and she'd be surprised if an older student could pull it off in time, let alone a fourteen year old.
"Well, it's not exactly common for people to do so," James explained as his mind offered up a few suggestions he quickly dispelled as they wouldn't be any use to Harry's age. "I'm not really sure how Hogwarts expects you to pull it off without adult help honestly."
"Um," Sirius cocked his head to the side in thought, "ah, let me get back to you on that one."
At this, Myrtle's eyes filled with sudden tears again.
"Uh oh," Remus groaned.
"Now you've done it," Sirius sighed, resisting the temptation to plug up his ears at the thought of this.
"What'd I do?" Harry yelped in surprise, they'd gone from speculating his problem to all looking annoyed in an instant.
"Not sure," James rolled his eyes, "but you said something to set off Myrtle, so here we go."
Wailing at how tactless he was, talking about breathing in front of her!
"Oh," Lily nodded, "well I've seen her be set off by less."
Harry was starting to regret that he hadn't put his trousers on the last time he'd gotten out, so maybe he could have snuck away by now.
She buried her face in her sleeves, and Harry only now remembered how touchy she could be, when other ghosts didn't react to that kind of stuff.
"Well you said it," Sirius sniffed, "Myrtle's one of a kind."
He impatiently apologized,
"I wasn't aware you could be impatiently sorry," Remus chuckled.
"But I'm glad you can pull it off," James grinned.
while Myrtle brokenly stated he wasn't the first, nobody had cared when she was alive. It had taken the school ages to find her body.
"Here we go again," Sirius threw his hands up in exasperation. "This is the story we mentioned before, if ever you asked how she died she'd just go on about this bit."
"Not even a very thrilling tale," James agreed with a sigh.
Olive Hornby had been the first to do so, laughing about how she'd probably been in there crying again, and Myrtle had made her pay for that. Myrtle haunted her for years, even going to a wedding to follow her around.
Lily still felt kind of bad for Myrtle, but it didn't stop her snapping, "what's she blaming her for? It wasn't that girl who got her killed. Why's she even allowed to do that?"
"Well you know Myrtle doesn't even know who did it," Remus reminded, "so she's just haunting the first person who came into contact with her after the fact."
"I think at some point she got a restraining order from the Ministry banishing her back to Hogwarts," James shrugged. "At least, I hope Olive did, I know I wouldn't want to put up with that."
Harry had stopped listening, still playing the song in his head about how something he'd miss would be taken. What were they going to take?
Myrtle was still chatting about how the Ministry of Magic had eventually got her to stop stalking and forced her back to her toilet.
"Fair compensation for stalking," Sirius snorted.
Harry vaguely agreed that was a good idea,
"I can see you were just riveted by that," Lily giggled.
while deciding it was time for him to go. He demanded she keep her eyes shut while he got dressed again, and once he was done and picking up all three of his things Myrtle asked if he'd come visit her again?
"I'm sure that's top of your to do list," James rolled his eyes.
"Could always find some more illegal potions to brew in there," Sirius offered, "I'm sure you'll come up with a reason to eventually."
"You're not encouraging," Lily grumbled at him.
Harry lied that he'd try, while privately thinking he wouldn't unless her's was the last bathroom available.
"And even then I'd rather use the lake," Remus finished as if reading, "because apparently it goes there anyways."
The others got a fascinating combination of laughter and disgust on their faces, so Remus admitted he'd been joking but still kept going with a wicked smirk in place.
Harry said his goodbye as he slipped his cloak on and activated his map to track the school again, the egg under his other arm. Filch and Mrs. Norris were down in their office, Peeves was bouncing around the trophy room, all seemed calm and a peaceful walk back to his tower, until he spotted something odd.
"Was it Sinestra sneaking into Vectors office?" Sirius asked innocently. "I caught that a fair few times."
"And I begged you every time not to tell me," Remus grumbled without looking up.
Peeves was not the only thing that was moving. A single dot was flitting around a room in the bottom left-hand corner - Snape's office.
"I can understand why you'd be keeping an eye on him," James muttered in disgust, he was always top of his list to keep tabs on.
But the dot wasn't labeled 'Severus Snape,' it was Bartemius Crouch.
Remus had to blink down at the pages several times to convince his brain he'd read that, and by the time he was convinced that name wasn't vanishing Lily had come over her shock and snatched the book away to see for herself, now juggling the thick spine and baby all at once and still managing to hold a look of disbelief in place.
"What on earth is he doing?" Sirius tried to demand, but his voice failed him in shock so it came out more of a whisper.
"How can he even be," James waved his hand around for emphasis of not even being aware what this was. "I thought he was so sick Percy was doing his job, now he's crawling around the castle."
"In Snape's private office," Remus agreed as he gently took the book back.
"I really want to know what's changed this guy," Lily demanded as she kept glaring at the book. "The only time he's acted the way I know him now was at the World Cup. Ever since then he's been acting like, well I don't even know."
"I have a bad feeling about me finding out," Harry grumbled as he kneaded his temple with his knuckles, something was pounding away in there insisting what he'd said was true enough.
"Well, best get it over with then," Remus tried to shrug this off for Harry's sake, his own mind wondering how much Dumbledore knew about this. Surely Crouch wasn't on the property without the headmaster knowing, which surely meant Snape had knowledge of what was going on and maybe invisible Harry would find something out. There was no doubt in anyone's mind Harry would go investigating this.
Harry watched the dot uncertainly, trying to understand how Crouch could be so sick he'd miss the Yule Ball, but was now sneaking around his school after midnight. The little label was moving around and occasionally pausing.
"Bit of an odd time for an inventory check," Sirius muttered.
Curiosity getting the better of him,
"No surprise there," James agreed.
Harry changed course and headed that way, his nose still pressed to the map as he moved along, passing into a shortcut. This seemed very out of character for Crouch sneaking around someone else's office.
They all agreed, none of them could come up with a feasible explanation for this. Even Remus' idea about the teachers having foreknowledge was lacking when he was reminded of the time, surely nothing so pressing was happening that Snape's cupboard had to be raided at this time.
Halfway down, Harry's leg suddenly wasn't level, and in fact had sunk into a trick step.
"Oh bugger," James groaned, already his fingers sliding past his glasses to hide his eyes from what this could mean.
He wobbled, and the still damp egg came free of his grasp, clanging on every step on the way down,
Sirius was counting all the ways in his head how bad this was, and already reaching double digits for his poor pup.
while the Invisibility Cloak tried to slide down with it, and in Harry's wild grasp to catch that the Map slipped free floating halfway down the stairs as well from where Harry was jammed.
Lily was biting her tongue to stop herself bemoaning that this really couldn't get any worse, then she realized next thing his wand was probably going to go sailing away as well!
The golden egg fell through the tapestry at the bottom of the staircase, burst open, and began wailing loudly in the corridor below.
"And that's my limit," Remus groaned, letting his head hang for a moment before looking pleadingly at his friends, "anyone else want to read about the travesty to come?"
"Nope," Sirius shook his head quickly, "that's all yours."
James removed his fingers so that he could glare at the book doing this to his son as he stated, "sorry Moony, you have fun with that."
"He's just going to get caught out of bed," Lily tried for some optimism. "Worst that can happen is he might get a detention."
"With the cloak and map on him," Sirius tallied up for her. "Try week's worth of detentions."
"Maybe being a champion they'll cut him some slack," James offered weakly.
"Good luck with that," Remus snorted.
Harry tried to reach with his wand to wipe the Map blank, but it was too far.
"And why did that stop you?" Sirius asked, rolling his eyes, "just say the spell and it'll still be done." Then he suddenly brightened all the more and said, "you've still got your wand on you, least that didn't come loose. Just summon everything back to you and hide under the cloak."
"You'll still be stuck in there until someone pulls you free," James winced, "so it's a question of being caught or let your leg go numb for how many hours."
Harry had gone from looking flabbergasted at Sirius, the thought hadn't even crossed his panicky mind, to thinking that his dad's options were more likely.
Making sure the cloak was still covering him, all Harry could do was tense in fear as the roar reached his ear, Peeves!
"There's a momentary relief," Remus couldn't help a small smile, "least he's not approaching you at defcon five."
"Filch always blames Peeves first," Sirius agreed.
Filch had arrived almost instantly upon the racket the egg was making, shouting about the poltergeist, but quickly catching sight of the real noise.
They all tensed in preparation for Filch making the connection...but then James suddenly brightened with the widest smirk in place. "Actually, this could still work out. Harry's hiding under the cloak, Filch shouldn't be able to find him. That could belong to any champion, so Harry could just steal it back before anyone's the wiser when Filch takes it back to his office."
"Could work," Sirius agreed eagerly, "so long as Harry keeps his head."
Harry could hear him stoop to pick up the egg, the wailing was cut off, and Harry stayed very still
"Not like you had a choice," Remus muttered.
as he waited for Filch to pull back the tapestry to his hidden corridor, expecting to see Peeves, but instead his eyes would surely land on the Map.
"No, really," Sirius insisted, watching Harry with the most disappointed eyes he could muster. "Summon it back to you already. You are losing some very important scheming points for not reacting already."
"I panicked," Harry defended, "went on lockdown, I think I stopped breathing for a few moments, let alone think."
Filch began whispering to Mrs. Norris about how this was a Triwizard clue, Peeves had been stealing from a champion.
"Actually no," Lily shook her head, "I've never known Peeves to actively steal personal belongings, or at least hang onto them. He might chuck it across the room."
"I can still see him trying this though," Remus disagreed. "If one of the champions had left it out, Peeves would think this was a great idea."
He ripped back the tapestry,
"Like Peeves would still be hiding there though," James scoffed.
"He'd either be floating above laughing, or at the other end of the school by now," Sirius agreed.
and Harry got a proper look at Filch's strained face and popping eyes landing on an apparently deserted corridor.
Filch began whispering to himself about how Peeves could hide all he'd like but surely Dumbledore would have him kicked out for this.
"I am as positive as can be Dumbledore has no control of Peeves being in that school," Remus snickered.
"I've never known magic that could get rid of one," Lily agreed, "and even if by some miracle you did, another would just appear. They're spirits of chaos after all-"
"And who harbors more chaos than a school," James finished for her.
"Really makes you wonder if Fleur was lying," Sirius cocked his head to the side, "I wouldn't honestly be surprised if all schools housed one of some kind."
"I wouldn't put it past her," Lily tisked, thinking she'd probably exaggerated every bit of her perfect precious school.
Filch began climbing the stairs, still muttering to himself, his cat at his heels now watching Harry with her eerie eyes through the Cloak. This wasn't the first time Harry had to wonder if this worked on cats.
"And the answer is still yes, physically she can't see you," Remus sighed.
"But she can use her other sharper senses, like smell," Sirius grumbled. "It just depends on how intelligent she is to work out if the scent is old, or fresh and she should get Filch, or what."
James was muttering under his breath about how bad this could get and didn't add in.
Harry tried desperately to wrench his leg free as Filch kept climbing closer, he'd reach the map first or walk right into Harry-
then someone called for what Filch was up to?
Lily scowled and said a few choice words even as relief flooded her, Harry's life really knew how to set the tension.
Filch stopped where he was and looked back down to see Snape.
Remus couldn't help face planting the pages for a moment, counting up all the number of times this guy kept showing up to ruin their lives and not happy at all with the number.
"Of bleeding course!" Sirius snarled in outrage. "Because if there's one person to make a situation worse, it'll always be him to show up!"
"I swear he has a radar on my last name," James moaned, "there is no other explanation how he keeps doing this."
He was wearing a long gray nightshirt and he looked livid.
"Because I always wanted to know what he slept in," Sirius crinkled up his nose.
Filch explained himself, showing the egg still in his grasp and what he knew Peeves had been up to.
Snape quickly reached his side, his eyes taking in the scene while Harry watched with a pounding heart he was sure would give him away.
"You're not helping by exaggerating," Lily sighed, though honestly she couldn't help a small smile at the same time. After all the heart pounding, fear inducing moments this tournament had already done to her, a thing like dealing with Filch and detention felt like a cake walk.
Snape's first comment was to say Peeves couldn't get into his office.
"Oh?" James drew the vowel too far out in surprise. "Well maybe we were slightly wrong, and it was a surprise visit being conducted."
"Hope he gets fired for something," Sirius grumbled, knowing it wasn't exactly Crouch's job to do...well whatever on earth could even be going on, but if it was putting Snape in a bad mood he was all for it.
The two began talking over each other, Filch still trying to go on about what Peeves had done, Snape saying how someone had broken into his office and only a wizard could have done so. Snape won by snapping out that he didn't give a damn about that Poltergeist, he wanted Filch's help to search the castle for whoever had been in his office.
Remus couldn't help a petty little smile that Snape was running to anyone for help, thinking the last time Snape had needed something he'd turned to Filch then to. Seemed the caretaker even he'd hated in his youth was the only friend he seemed to want help from now, not that he had any others.
Filch tried to argue, looking longingly towards the way he was sure Peeves had gone.
"He's kidding himself," Lily rolled his eyes, "he must know better than anyone Peeves wouldn't still be hanging around. He's got his evidence, he can come back later."
"You be sure to tell him that dear," James smiled at her.
Harry was pleading with the universe they'd just go, while Mrs. Norris was still keeping eyes on him. Harry knew if anything she could smell him, why had he used all that scented soap!
"Yes, why indeed did you not have the foresight not to play with that new toy," Sirius scolded, wagging his finger in Harry's face for emphasis.
Harry momentarily considered trying to catch that finger and hold it hostage until his godfather reconsidered doing it again, he was wound tight as could go at the remembered stress of this, but then Sirius turned eagerly back to listen to Remus and Harry lost his moment.
Filch told Snape he'd help, but first he had to see the headmaster, there was no way he'd condone letting Peeves get away with this.
Snape replied his office was more important than that- but was cut off by a distinctive and repetitive clunk.
"And the party continues?" Remus raised a sharp brow.
"Just how many teachers wander around this castle at night," Harry threw up his hands in exasperation.
"More than you'd think, but few enough this usually isn't such a problem," James said in what he was sure was a wise old voice.
Both stopped speaking at once as Mad-Eye appeared.
"While the footsteps were distinctive enough I guessed as much," Lily rolled her eyes, "could it not have been anyone else besides him. Harry actually had a chance to get out of this mess, but the one person in that castle who can see past that cloak shows up!"
"So glad we're on the same page love," James huffed as he slumped back into his seat, the game was definitely up now.
Moody took in the full scene, his first response to ask the two if they were having a pajama party?
"Well I should hope not," Remus tried for a laugh, "McGonagall wasn't invited, and you know how upset she'd be about that."
"See, this is why you should have stuck around," Sirius grinned at him.
Filch began explaining everything, but when he got to Snape's office Snape snapped at him to shut it.
Lily raised a sharp brow like she wanted to give Snape a suspicious look for doing that. What was he trying to hide from Moody?
Moody took a few steps up so he could be more on level with them, his blue eye alone being able to take in the full scene.
"Someone should make that the next painting hung up in school," James couldn't help a small smile, "it feels like the perfect metaphor for how Harry's life goes. Mostly observing and just waiting to get caught."
"I'm sure Snape would love one hung in his office," Sirius agreed.
Moody's lopsided gash of a mouth opened in surprise.
"What master Auror skills he has," Lily grimaced. "He practically gave away Harry's position before he said a word."
For a moment he seemed to be deciding what to do, then he closed his mouth and turned to Snape.
They all braced themselves for this boot to drop.
Asking about this person who broke in?
"Again," James couldn't help but point out with a smirk, though it faded right back off as he couldn't help but question, "though even knowing who did it doesn't help any of my questions."
"He's not going to tell," Lily yelped in surprise.
"I guess not," Remus agreed slowly, "if he didn't say it right off the bat, I can't imagine he would...but why not?"
"Who cares," Sirius grinned, "Harry's going to get away with it for sure now."
Snape replied it was of no importance to him.
"You weren't saying so a second ago," Sirius sneered, knowing Snape thought anything concerning him was the most important thing in the world.
Moody disagreed, asking if Snape had any suspects?
Snape grudgingly admitted it was most likely a student, this had happened before so students could steal and make their own potions.
Remus enunciated each syllable carefully, "hypocrite." Before continuing on more casually, "I know for a fact he used to filch from Slughorn all the time to brew his own vats for whatever he wanted."
Lily didn't bother to deny it, she'd just never wanted to ask where he got them.
Moody asked if he was sure he didn't have anything else hidden in there?
"Oh please have Moody go check next," Sirius sneered. "Would make my day for him to get fired for something illegal I know he has in there."
"I wouldn't hold your breath," Lily couldn't help but mutter a tad bitterly.
Snape narrowed his eyes at Moody as he said dangerously Moody knew full well he had nothing else, he'd searched his office already.
"Well lookie there," James' grin managed to spring back to life instantly. "As if Moody hadn't already proved himself useful to this school, now he's actually listening to us."
"Pity he didn't find anything," Remus sighed.
"Probably keeps a secret stash hidden in the dungeons somewhere, so he can torture students at his own disposal," Sirius said, only half kidding.
Moody agreed that was a privilege Dumbledore had allowed-
Snape cut him off with a temper, saying Dumbledore trusted him and he still didn't believe the headmaster had granted this!
"And yet he did it anyways," Lily snapped back, "which finally shows there is still a brain in his head."
While honestly pleased his wife still hadn't switched back to even remotely defending Snape again, he still couldn't help but expect a relapse, this new version was honestly scaring him as he recoiled slightly. Lily was speaking of him with as much hatred as she'd once shown James, so it wasn't exactly as pleasant a new sensation as he would have once thought.
Moody agreed Dumbledore did trust Snape, the man believed in second chances.
"What did he do with his first chance?" Harry asked in surprise.
"Most likely, got caught as a Death Eater," Sirius growled. "We've only heard rumours before now he was one, but that seems the most likely. I'm just wondering how in Merlin's beard Dumbledore let that slide enough to give him a job."
"I'm sad to say we probably won't find out," Remus huffed.
Moody disagreed, saying there were some spots that didn't come off, finishing with an obvious look at Snape.
His eyes narrowed, and he did something very strange, his right arm flinched like he meant to grasp hold of his left forearm like he'd been stung.
Harry felt a buzzing go off in the base of his skull, glancing down at that forearm as well and so very sure he should remember something being there on Snape's... but then he looked around and saw no one else had a clue what this could mean so he didn't press it.
Moody laughed at the reaction, telling Snape to run along to bed.
"Be a good little bat and I'll throw you some fruit later," James happily agreed.
"Don't be ridiculous Prongs," Remus said back without looking up, "he's obviously more of an O- type."
"Why should that stop me?" James demanded over the other three's giggling, "as if I'd ever give him what he actually wanted."
Remus could have kept the banter going, but he was far too curious for this night to be over and Harry to get away from Snape in general to keep on.
Snape was outraged, exclaiming he had just as much a right to walk this castle as anyone.
Moody agreed he could prowl away, but he was now looking forward all the more to meeting him in a lonely corridor.
"I am begging you to sit in on that one pup," Sirius turned pleading eyes on Harry. "Foot trapped or not."
"I'll get right on that," Harry shot back, not at all denying he'd pay good money to see that fight.
Then Moody added as an afterthought that that he'd spotted the map and Snape must have dropped it.
"Oh bloody hell," Sirius yelped, his heart starting to beat too hard at where this could lead.
"Remus isn't around to keep him away this time," James groaned.
Harry couldn't deny any such things of happening, because he was quite sure he wouldn't have his map for some time after this night, and it was not an encouraging thought at all.
Harry realized what was happening as both Filch and Snape spotted it for the first time, and Harry threw caution to the wind and waved to get Moody's attention under the cloak, mouthing at the DADA teacher that was his!
"Not sure how that makes it better," Lily got out around gnawing on her lip. "He's doing you a favor by not telling your there, not sure if that'll extend to your stuff."
Snape was reaching for it, an expression of dawning comprehension on his face -
Remus was resisting the urge to chuck the book across the room, he didn't want to read out this next part.
but Moody reacted fasted by summoning it to him, the parchment zooming right out from Snape's fingers.
"Moody is officially my favorite person ever," James sagged in relief.
"We owe him big for doing all this," Sirius agreed fervently.
While as happy as the boys, Lily was still more than curious as to why Moody was. Even having helped out Harry before with the first task, that should have been out of pity or even a reward for Harry doing the right thing. Helping to keep Harry out of trouble like this though was just odd, what was the reason? Surely even Dumbledore wouldn't have gone this far.
Quickly stuffing it out of sight and correcting himself that was his, he must have dropped it earlier.
Snape wasn't paying this any attention, his mind clearly putting together what only Snape could,
"Well yes, he does have the extenuating circumstances of knowing all of that is yours," Remus rolled his eyes.
"But even he can't think you're stupid enough to have just thrown those around willy nilly," Sirius scowled, "so you've got to wonder what he really thinks Harry's up to."
"Here's hoping I don't have to find out," James huffed, wanting Snape to be gone already.
Whispering the name Potter.
Moody asked what he meant, and Snape turned back in Harry's direction now, his eyes landing unerringly right on him as if he could suddenly see him there now that he knew.
All five of them gave a nasty shudder at that, more than thankful whatever magic possessed that cloak didn't work like that.
Putting together that everything that was here belonged to Potter, he was here underneath his Invisibility Cloak.
"I forgot he even knew about the cloak too," James groaned in disgust. "Merlin that man has successfully wrecked my school life by knowing about both of those now."
"It does indeed put a damper that he figured out that was Harry's that night," Sirius agreed, this not even having occurred to him at the time as he'd been more focused on other things, but it was true, Snape had found it and at once linked it to being Harry's. The man must have put it together as well as the Map that he'd seen it in Marauder hands often enough he'd pieced it all together.
Snape suddenly put his arm out and began climbing the stairs, clearly thinking he was going to find Harry like a blind man, Harry swore he saw his nose dilating like he could sniff Harry out.
"I always said that over large nose had to come in handy for something," Sirius rolled his eyes at the idea.
Harry was forced to lean as far back as he could while still being stuck in place to avoid the fingers, just as Moody barked Snape was being ridiculous, there was no one else around. He'd be happy to pass along the message to Dumbledore though that Snape's first thought was Potter.
"I should be flattered," Harry grumbled.
Snape stopped his approach, turning back to glare at Moody what he meant by that?
Moody stated that Dumbledore wanted to know everyone who had it out for the boy. In the torchlight illuminating his face, every scar and misshapen feature seemed to hold a whole new ghastly shadow.
James' face gave a nasty twitch at the reminder he hadn't forgotten, it was still very unsettling to picture Moody like that.
Snape did not reply to that, instead his arm dropped back down to his side and he stated he knew Potter had a habit of wandering after hours, he'd only been looking out for Potter's best interest.
"A top priority of yours, as you've always made clear," Sirius said, his voice laced with sarcasm.
"Habit?" Lily repeated in disgust. "Harry really doesn't do it that often, not even as often as I did. Two or three times a year at best."
Harry did a double take at his mum saying that, she'd never mentioned any explicit school breaking like that to him, but Remus was still eagerly reading and now clearly enjoying Snape's predicament against Moody to notice.
Moody didn't seem to believe him as he repeated that back at Snape.
There was silence all around until Snape spoke up again that he was going to bed.
"Scamper off with your tail between your legs," Sirius chirped, still wishing more than anything Moody had been around in their day, he clearly came in handy.
Moody agreed that was the best idea he'd had this night. Then he turned dismissively away from him towards Filch, telling him to hand over the egg.
Filch refused, clutching the egg as though it were his firstborn son.
James scowled lightly as his mind flickered to that feeling, not ever having believed he'd mock anyone for that description, but it reminded him too much of his numbered days being able to do that for his own infant and any mockery of it didn't sit right.
Protesting this was evidence of Peeves' doing!
"Bloody hell man, you're never getting rid of that poltergeist, move on," Remus sighed.
Moody shot back it was the property of a school champion and it was to be handed over. Snape walked past the squabbling duo without any acknowledgement, and clearly outed here, Filch unhappily passed the egg along and turned to leave as well, muttering to his cat to come along, they could still go to Dumbledore and report this.
"There's Moody's point," Lily rolled her eyes, "Filch can still tell for all the good it'll do without the egg in his possession."
When both were far out of sight, Moody heaved himself up the stairs to Harry's position, mentioning how close that had been.
Harry thanked him for not mentioning he'd been present.
Moody asked what the Marauder's Map was, pulling it back out of his pocket and investigating it.
"Something of the utmost genius," Sirius stated at once.
"Crafted by only the keenest of artists," James quickly tacked on pompously.
Remus pretended he wasn't going to add on by reading, but no one could deny the faint tones of pride lacing his own voice while reading about their map.
Harry tried to explain what it was while wincing around some pain, his leg was beginning to hurt in its trapped position.
Moody's magical eye was going haywire as it studied every inch of the paper,
Harry couldn't help but to start twitching in unease, some feeling trying to rear up in him warning he didn't like Moody having hold of his map...
telling him this was some object to be had.
"Yes!" James crowed as if he'd received the end of all compliments. "Can you believe the Alastor Moody just complimented us!"
"I'm at a loss for words," Sirius agreed, his eager smile not being dampened one bit.
"Can you imagine when you do become an Auror and mention this to him before he even finds it," Remus added for his friends benefit. "Moody'll be so impressed, he'll probably try having you make some for even more buildings and places."
James's chest swelled with pride at the very idea of receiving this praise in person, but would never dream of denying, "well of course I just drew it, if he wants full replications he'll owe you two some compensation as well."
"This could be fun," Sirius' smirk widened at once. "Can you imagine us actually making a business of plotting out and recreating our map for other buildings."
"Places like the Ministry for example would go haywire for dozens of copies," Lily couldn't stop herself adding in.
They all looked floored at the idea, nothing like this had even crossed their minds before as anything more than a childhood pet project for their own security, and partial vanity, but this really was the first time they realized what they really could have on their hands.
Harry agreed it came in handy, trying to ignore his eyes starting to water from the pain as he asked his Professor to give him a hand.
Sirius was suddenly accosted back to this reality, and remembered back to a time he'd found P-, that rat, stuck in there. He'd fallen in hours ago apparently and was limping for ages afterwards, it really could leave a bruise if someone was left in there long enough not being able to pull themselves out. He didn't say this aloud, what had once been almost a funny memory suddenly made him realize who his brain had been intentionally leaving out this whole discussion of their map and he was not happy at the reminder.
Moody was momentarily surprised at the interruption before looking up and realizing where Harry still was, quickly grabbing hold of him and pulling him back out. Then he asked Harry if he'd seen who was in Snape's office?
Harry agreed it had been Mr. Crouch.
Harry felt his jaw do an odd number, something in him kicking and screaming to say that wasn't quite right, but Harry had more than enough practice to hastily brush that aside and ignore it best he could.
Moody's magical eye whizzed over the entire surface of the map. He looked suddenly alarmed.
"Well that can't be right," Lily cocked her head to the side. "He's supposed to be heading security or something, there's no way Crouch got onto the property without Dumbledore knowing, and why wouldn't he tell Moody as well."
"Something about this really isn't adding up," James agreed.
Harry gave a nasty twitch but still declined his answer which he knew he'd be grateful for in the long run.
Moody found this very interesting, still taking this map in.
Harry couldn't think of any way to reply. He was grateful Moody had gotten him out of trouble, and wanted to ask about all this, so threw caution to the wind and asked what Crouch would be doing here?
Moody's magical eye went and landed on Harry now, clearly sizing him up on how much to tell him, before answering that while Moody may be obsessed with catching Dark wizards, it was nothing compared to Crouch.
"Interesting way of putting it," Lily sniffed.
"Moody caught them," Sirius explained for Harry.
"While Crouch threw the book at them, the heaviest and hardest ones he could find, on even the smallest of charges," James finished with the smallest of frowns showing his displeasure.
"It's supposedly to show he's not taking any Death Eater's lightly," Remus sighed, "but really, from what I've heard, he gets bleeding cruel sometimes."
"It seems to be working though," Lily sighed, "as no one's trying to stop him."
Harry was getting a terrible feeling as this continued, he was very sure he had strong feelings about this topic that just weren't coming to the surface quite yet, but thanked them all the same as clearly they didn't like talking about it. Even as anti- Voldemort as they all were, obviously something of what Crouch was doing didn't feel much better.
Harry then asked if perhaps Crouch knew something more was going on?
Moody looked at Harry suspiciously, asking what that could be?
Harry didn't want to admit he'd been hearing things from the outside, fearing it could lead to some inquiries about Sirius.
"I can't really see me being his first train of thought," Sirius gave an uneasy smile, "he and the likes would still think I'm after you after all."
"Better safe than sorry," James muttered, hoping Harry did keep his mouth shut.
Still, Harry tried to play it off he'd just heard some things, like the Dark Mark at the World Cup and things from the prophet, it was all odd.
Moody watched Harry with something like mild respect before telling Harry what a sharp lad he was.
"Is that really so hard to work out?" Lily rolled her eyes. "No one would think to put those two together?" She wasn't trying to underplay Harry for knowing this, but it wouldn't take a genius either.
"Well most his age are only concerned with Quidditch stats," Remus shrugged, "so I guess it's more of a compliment for paying attention like that."
Moody's eyes were back on the Marauder's Map as he said Crouch was most likely thinking along the same lines as Harry, all this talk going around was making people nervous. Then his lopsided mouth did something resembling a smile as he finished if there was one thing he hated, his eyes now on the left-hand corner of the map,
The Marauders knew that map like that back of their own wand of course, so they realized he was in fact looking at the dungeons, back in Snape's direction.
it was a free Death Eater.
Harry just stared, sure Moody couldn't mean what he thought he did.
Lily didn't even need to see the map to put together what that meant, restraining herself for saying just a few more foul things at yet more proof of what Severus had turned into.
Then Moody turned and said now he had a question for him.
Harry's heart sank as he guessed what was coming, he was going to be asked where this map had come from, which could lead to some awkward answers involving his old teacher Professor Lupin and even his dad, plus the Weasley twins.
"Two of which aren't exactly Moody's concern," James muttered with just a tad more sulleness in his voice as he realized he was technically speaking of himself in past tense.
"Is this thing even technically legal?" Lily suddenly asked as she did worry about Remus, and the twins for that matter. "Wouldn't you need permission from the Headmaster to have such a thing?"
"Don't know, not like we asked," Sirius rolled his eyes at the thought.
"There's not technically a rule against it," Remus put just a touch more emphasis than was called for into that.
"Of course that makes it all better," Lily snorted.
"This is all pointless anyways," James tried to wave back attention to the important matter, "it's not like Harry's going to spill."
Instead, Moody asked if he could borrow it?
"Err," James stuttered, sure he'd heard wrong.
"Great, if it's not one teacher confiscating it, it's another," Sirius scowled as he realized what that really meant, like Harry had a choice.
Remus flushed in remembrance of that action, Sirius had made it clear he wasn't holding a grudge about that but it still wasn't a pleasant reminder as he quickly read in hopes Harry would somehow get past this, or at least have the intentions of stealing it back.
Harry was so surprised, and grateful Moody had done him a favor this night, he supposed he should return it no matter how fond he was of his map.
"Well I guess," James blustered, "when you put it like that."
"So long as it's a temporary loan," Sirius stated in no uncertain terms. "If Remus couldn't break the curse no one can, and Moody doesn't need to be leaving with that at the end of the year."
"I'll make sure of it," Harry swore, that uneasy feeling in him still not settling even if he did now understand why he wouldn't get his map back tonight. Something in him was kicking his insides telling him he should have taken another long look at that map before he handed it over...
He agreed, and Moody thanked him while telling him to get back off to bed. The two climbed the stairs and at first headed in the same direction, Moody still holding the map like a treasure.
James still couldn't stop a genuine smile creeping across his face. He hadn't been able to help it last night, in between his tossing and turning and thinking over all the events to come, his realization of what had happened to Moody had lingered in there as well. Fear for his life, less accurately his face but still, really had been leaving him slightly dubious of his job of choice he'd been set on...but now he really was considering something else. He always had been a good artist, he'd been the one to hand draw out that map that even impressed Moody in this way, so if he could be of help to this department some other way...
They meant to split off when they reached Moody's office, but the teacher called Harry back and asked if he'd ever considered a job as an Auror?
Lily and James couldn't help but startle, the idea hadn't even yet occurred to them that though Harry was the age, he'd have some job in his life. It was really saying something if it was in fact the very one his father was looking for.
Harry said no in surprise, and Moody told him he should be considering it, while also glancing at the egg back in Harry's arms and also pointing out Harry hadn't been taking that on a walk.
"Without a leash? He wouldn't dream of it," Sirius smirked.
Harry agreed he'd been working on the clue, and Moody told him he had no doubts Harry would work it out. Then he did leave.
Harry made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, his mind still churning over Snape and Crouch, Crouch being dominant with all the questions about him. Why was he pretending to be ill but coming up here? What had he been doing in Snape's office?
"Both excellent questions," Lily wrinkled up her forehead, not coming up with an answer she did like, either in explanation or just plain chasing away her chills.
There was also that small other thing, that Moody actually thought Harry could be an auror. The idea seemed intriguing, but Harry decided as he climbed into bed, he'd like to see a few more noses on the other Aurors before he considered it.
Causing some smattering of laughter in the end as Remus handed the book a little guiltily to Lily, not wanting to admit that he was rather relieved he wasn't going to be the one to read that next task as well, and masking that by telling Harry, "I do believe the majority of them at least have the full percentage of their noses."
"That's right comforting," Harry smiled back, but something in him was lingering on the idea.
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