“I’m a clever beast, just like you”
And in this season finale we saw how true that was as Lady Fitz showed just how Machiavellian she could be.
Scenario #1:
Isabella to Harcourt “Hahaha, you’re fucked”.
Harcourt: finds Fallon anyway, sends Isabella to Bedlam, becomes their daughter’s guardian, probably kills Charlotte too.
Benefits: 0 as Isabella lost any time sensitive leverage she could use.
Final status: fucked.
Scenario #2:
Isabella uses Fallon for leverage, but tells Harcourt: “I hate your guts and you’re not my brother anymore”. Harcourt uses the info, then starts plotting a way to get his “niece” back. He’s a marquess with powerful allies, and since Isabella left him and rejected him, he’s got nothing to lose and is hellbent on revenge. Charlotte gets killed because Harcourt knows it will cause Isabella pain. Then Isabella gets stabbed one evening outside the opera, or again ends up in Bedlam and Harcourt gets Sophia back.
Benefits: minimal, only temporary respite.
Final status: fucked.
Scenario #3:
Lady Fitz does what Charlotte advised her to do: find a weakness and press.
What’s Harcourt’s weakness? Isabella. He loves her, it’s a twisted, sordid love, but it’s why he did what he did to her and why he kept her on a leash all these years. Therefore Isabella tells him exactly what he wants to hear, so Harcourt thinks he will be able to make peace with her at some point and they’ll be a big happy incestuous family one day. There is no better leverage than hope.
Benefits: Isabella gets her money and house, she's safe, her daughter is safe, and so is Charlotte. Harcourt knows that if he goes after Charlotte, he’ll never get his sister back.
Final status: a tamed Harcourt who is declawed because he thinks his sister is on his side and that she will come to her senses one day.
Final status: WIN.
And Isabella can always write to Charlotte to explain all this.
TLDR: Isabella manipulated her brother like a boss.
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Fic: Joke’s on me
Summary: Owen isn’t handling his death and subsequent undeath very well.
Author’s note: This is a rewrite of the conversation between Owen and Ianto because I didn’t like what the writers did with it. I wrote this for the @torchwoodfanfests‘ 2020 Bingo Fest, for the prompt ‘anger’. The fic and my bingo card are under the cut, or if you prefer, you can read it on AO3 here!
Warnings: This is set during episode 2x08 ‘A Day In The Death’ and it’s canon-compliant. No warnings beyond Owen’s death and resurrection, and some swears.
Word count: 835
My bingo card:
Work text:
“This is bollocks!” Owen pushed the coffee machine in disgust. “What am I even doing here?!” He grabbed one of the handles and shook it violently, overtaken by a fit of irate helplessness. Owen hadn’t ever been one to deal well with helplessness. Then again, Ianto supposed, who was?
He stopped after a few seconds, still holding tight to the handle, his back to Ianto. “I can’t do my job, can’t do the things I love, I can’t even drink the damned coffee anymore, what the fuck am I here for then?”
Ianto took a breath. “Owen, you will-”
“What do you know?” Owen interrupted in a rage, turning around to face him again. He stepped up to him, trying to hover menacingly, Ianto thought, which might have worked if Ianto wasn’t taller than him and also well-acquainted with Owen’s anger and how he used it as a bulwark to hold back the terror that was part and parcel of working for Torchwood. The terror seemed to be winning this round. “I’m a fucking zombie! I’m not supposed to be here, there’s nothing left for me here!” He accentuated his point by pushing Ianto back a step. “Look at me, I’m a fucking joke!”
Ianto hesitated between two paths for a split second; should he treat Owen with the compassion he clearly deserved for what he was going through, or should he treat Owen like he normally would? But he knew the answer, he knew what he’d prefer if it was him in Owen’s shoes.
So he reached up to hold onto Owen’s shoulder with one hand and squeezed comfortingly before he spoke, voice soothing in the face of Owen’s turmoil. “Owen, you’re not a joke.”
Owen was doing that face where his eyes were too wide and his jaw was clenched, and if he could breathe he’d probably be panting with rage right now. He looked deranged. Well, tough, it would take a lot more than that to get Ianto to back off when Owen was so obviously in distress. Instead of being cowed, Ianto leaned in closer and, wearing the most apologetic expression he could muster, he delivered the punchline. “You have to be funny to be a joke.”
For a second, Owen stared at him, unmoving. Then, sweet payoff. Owen tried to hold it back, but the laughter pushed through, up his throat, out the stiff lines of his mouth, curving them into a softer shape, the tension draining from his face first, then from his frame as his shoulders shook with suppressed mirth. The struggle lasted only for a moment, then he gave in, and for the first time since his resurrection, Owen laughed.
“You are such a twat,” he accused once the full-bodied laughter had made way to more modest chuckles.
Ianto grinned unrepentantly back at him. “Yeah, well. Made you laugh.”
“Ha. Sounds like you’re the joke, then.”
“Sounds like you’re saying I’m funny.” He affected a serious expression for maximum comedic effect. “Which I am.”
“You’re a cheeky little shit is what you are,” he was still smiling, so Ianto wasn’t exactly insulted. Coming from Owen, that was basically a term of endearment. “How rude do you have to be to make fun of your poor undead coworker in his hour of need.” He slapped Ianto’s chest with the back of his hand in mock-reprieve. “I might file a complaint. I’ll have you investigated for discrimination towards the undead. I bet we’re a recognised marginalised minority by Torchwood standards. There’s been enough of us for it, anyway.”
“I’m sure our non-existent HR department will get right on that as soon as they finish processing my sexual harassment complaints from the past year and a half.”
“Ha. Right. As if you haven’t been shagging the boss for most of that time. As if you weren’t egging him on even before that.”
Ianto pretended to be offended. “Are you calling me a harlot?”
Owen dissolved into sniggers at that, and that’s when Jack appeared to call all of them to a team meeting. Ianto saw him do a double take when he caught sight of Owen sniggering and Ianto grinning back at him, smug as the cat that got the cream. Jack spared a grateful/proud/affectionate smile just for him before collecting himself and announcing that he needed everyone in the conference room in his usual loud and flamboyant manner.
Owen turned to Jack and nodded, and though he’d stopped laughing, the calm that had come with it remained. Success, for now. The grief and the helplessness were bound to come back, but they’d been vanquished for now.
Ianto didn’t doubt that Owen could overcome even this. He just needed to be reminded that he wasn’t going through it alone. Ianto would keep reminding him, as many times as it took to get it through his thick skull.
“Back to work,” Owen muttered.
“Back to work,” Ianto agreed.
Together, they walked to the conference room to join the others.
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Please let there be a season 3 of Harlots
Because I need Harriet, Nell, and Noah running a house.
I need more of whatever is going on with Violet!
I need to see more the season ended with in my opinion more questions than answers.
Also does anyone else think Anne is gonna be dead?
Any predictions as to what a possible season 3 May hold?
Also poor Amelia at the end there!!!
(Drunk Josiah Hunt is best Josiah Hunt! “I’ve been a Prig!!!” Priceless!)
While Charlotte looked good as a bawd I hope season 3 allows her to move beyond a bawd into what she wants!
(This is me assuming we get a 3rd season)
Also Lydia at the end there....
Mama Scanwell for the win all episode!!!
And Lucy gets play of the episode! I was so proud of my bbys this episode!
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