Thinking about 19th century courting rules today. Specifically abt Edward Little asking Crozier before proposing making his suit to Jopson

a general terror playlist, adapted from my even longer personal one! this is a mess of genres musically, but it is in chronological order! tracklist and associated scenes/lyrics below the cut (some songs fit completely, for others only the lyrics I listed are really relevant). thanks to @dedraconesilet for helping me place some of these and screaming with me about the terror! Restless- Cold War Kids (Discovery Service|now you’re wired and you’re tired/there is never a break/you only come alive at the thrill of the chase/no, we can’t help it/we’re always restless/we already know the ending) Ends of the Earth-Lord Huron (leaving Greenhithe|out there’s a land that time don’t command/wanna be the first to arrive//to the ends of the earth would you follow me?/there’s a world that was meant for our eyes to see//maybe I’m headin’ to die but I’m still gonna try/I guess I’m goin’ alone) Into the Wild- Lewis Watson (last sighting in Baffin Bay|and we take another step into the truly unknown/don’t know why but it’s somewhere that we have to go/and it’s dangerously wonderful/so come on, come on, come on, come on/step out into the wild) Boat Song- Woodkid (sailing through Peel Sound|can we keep our bearing straight/or will we be blown off course/are we instruments of fate?/do we really have a choice?) Jesus Christ- Brand New (“will I fly? up to God?”|and I will die all alone/and when I arrive I won’t know anyone/well, Jesus Christ, I’m not scared to die/I’m a little bit scared of what comes after) We Are- Peter Bradley Adams (parties set out to look for leads|we wait for our luck to change/and hope to come//we just watch the seasons change/and wait for the storm to break/and the land to come) North- Sleeping At Last (“the western team must be nearly home now”|we will call this place our home//let the years we’re here be kind, be kind/let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide) Make a Shadow- Meg Myers (“funny to think of this place as home, isn’t it?”|don’t tell me this is home) Waves- Dean Lewis (the reindeer|I watched my wild youth disappear in front of my eyes/moments of magic and wonder/it seems so hard to find/is it ever coming back again//take me back to the feeling when/everything was left to find) Can’t Stop Time- Goodnight Neverland (“we’ve seen worse than this, you and me”|you can’t stop time/we’re getting older so you close your eyes/regretting everything you left behind) Spirit Cold- Tall Heights (Crozier standing alone between Terror and Erebus|how do I wake my spirit cold?/we always say when our history’s told/if only we knew the things we know/there’s a question ages old) I Of the Storm- Of Monsters and Men (“there’s a spare captain on Erebus”|are you really going to need me/when I’m gone/I fear you won’t/I fear you don’t) Hate on Fire- Ben Hazelwood (Gibson ends things with Hickey|I won’t follow you down this road/yeah, we both know just where it goes) Heavy Hangs the Crown- Samantha Farrell (“I’ve never wanted anything as little as I want this now”|you don’t know a thing/about the trouble that I’m in/fall without a sound/heavy hangs the crown) Holocene- Bon Iver (“do you not feel what has happened?”|and at once I knew I was not magnificent/strayed above the highway aisle/(jagged vacance, thick with ice)/I could see for miles, miles, miles) The Breaking Light- Vienna Teng (Ross in the admiralty scene|let your lion heart cleave the waves/brother you will return//so listen to the darkness, listen to the patterns/listen to the breathing sea/listen to the colors, carry them inside you/they will bring you back to me) Storm Song- PHILDEL (Lady Jane organizing her own rescue|even though the landscape stretches like a hard day/even though the old man says I have a fool’s plan/oh, despite the distance, you will see my footprints/I will raise my flagpole, I will turn these tables ‘round/I’ll send a storm to capture your heart and bring you home) Metal & Dust- London Grammar (“Miss Cracroft, who rejected you?”|and so, you built a life on trust/though it starts, with love and lust/and when your house, begins to rust/oh, it’s just, metal and dust/we argue, we don’t fight) Lover/Soldier- Washington (“I have no intention of becoming a captain’s wife”|lover, you’re a soldier, you’re a long, long way from home/a long way from your mother, and you do it on our own/I don’t belong to you, and you don’t belong to me/I don’t think we need to, ‘cause it’s just so easy) That’s Okay- The Hush Sound (“with me you’ve never hesitated to be plain”|you are broken and callow/cautious and safe/you are boundless and beauty/with fright in your face/until someone loves you/I’ll keep you safe/but like them, I will give you away) I Am Not Yours- Z. Randall Stroope (Crozier pining over Sophia|I am not yours, not lost in you/although I long to be//you love me, and I find you still/a spirit beautiful and bright) Hide and Seek - Imogen Heap (“much to do on Terror is all, sir”|where are we? what the hell is going on?/the dust has only just begun to fall/crop circles in the carpet, sinking, feeling/spin me ‘round again and rub my eyes/this can’t be happening) The Hunger in Your Haunt- Crywolf (Hickey gives Gibson Young’s ring|where are all the things that you have toiled all your life for?/was it me you wanted when you said you/wanted something more than what you knew?) I’ll Be Good- Jaymes Young (Crozier decides to stop drinking|my past has tasted bitter for years now/so I wield an iron fist/grace is just weakness/or so I’ve been told/I’ve been cold, I’ve been merciless/but the blood on my hands scares me to death/maybe I’m waking up today) I Will Try-Deaf Havana (Crozier’s intervention|and I will try my best to find a smile/and I will close my eyes and say I’m not afraid/and it’s time that I was clear of all the negativity that I hold so dear/I lost my sight for far too long to take my mind off all my fears/but I found my way again) Look After You- The Fray (“you needn’t worry for a thing, sir”|I’ll look after you/it’s always have and never hold/you’ve begun to feel like home) Trout Heart Replica- Amanda Palmer (Goodsir feeding Jacko from the tins|and killing things is not so hard/it’s hurting that’s the hardest part/and when the wizard gets to me/I’m asking for a smaller heart/and if he tells me “no”/I’ll hold my breath until I hit the floor/eventually I know I’m doomed to get what I am asking for) Give Me A Sign-Breaking Benjamin (Crozier in withdrawal|I’ll keep you alive/if you show me the way/forever–and ever/the scars will remain/I’m falling apart/leave me here forever in the dark/God help me I’ve come undone/out of the light of the sun) Keep Breathing- Ingrid Michaelson (Crozier on the upswing|but all that I know is I’m breathing/all I can do is keep breathing/all we can do is keep breathing now) Organs- Of Monsters and Men (Silna trying to take her father’s place|I should not care but I don’t know how/so I take off my face/because it reminds me how it all went wrong/and I pull out my tongue/because it reminds me how it all went wrong) Bleachless- Elizabeth Grace (Goodsir looking at Jacko’s body|‘cause when your life’s on the table/then there’s not much left to hide/begging for contagion/these hospitals won’t save us/and when these toxins leave us/it’s sad when we’ll be bleachless/'cause all you have to say/is that it’s gonna get better/it’s gonna get better/but it never does) Comes and Goes (In Waves)- Greg Laswell (Crozier’s speech at Carnivale|this one’s for the lonely, the ones that seek and find/only to be let down time after time/this one’s for the torn down, the experts at the fall/come on friends, get up now, you’re not alone at all) Runaway- The National (Stanley’s suicide|there’s no saving anything/how we swallow the sun/but I won’t be no runaway/'cause I won’t run//we got another thing coming undone/and it’s taking us over/ we don’t bleed when we don’t fight) Forest Fire- Brighton (fire|I keep imagining those flames that did rise/and blackened up the sky/the light that showed you barefoot in the snow/and then the fire started building up inside/exploding blinding lights/now I’m the one left screaming through the night//I’m gonna carry your bones/I’m gonna carry them all/I’m gonna carry you home) Stay Alive- José González (the dawn after Carnivale|I will stay with you tonight/hold you close 'til the morning light/in the morning watch a new day rise/we’ll do whatever just to stay alive) We Are Broken- Paramore (“these men need names yet”|'cause we are broken/what must we do to restore/our innocence/and oh, the promise we adored/give us life again/'cause we just wanna be whole) The Ice Is Getting Thinner- Death Cab for Cutie (abandoning ship|we’re not the same, dear, as we used to be/the seasons have changed and so have we/there was little we could say, and even less that we could do/to stop the ice from getting thinner under me and you) Sleeping Sickness- City And Colour (“horrible from supper”|someone come and, someone come and save my life/maybe I’ll sleep when I am dead/but now it’s like the night is taking sides/with all the worries that occupy the back of my mind/could it be this misery will suffice?) Disarm- The Civil Wars (Hickey realizes something’s wrong with the tinned food|the killer in me is the killer in you/send this smile over to you) Follow You- Bring Me the Horizon (Crozier helping Fitzjames up the ice|my head is haunting me and my heart feels like a ghost/I need to feel something, cause I’m still so far from home//so you can drag me through Hell/if it meant I could hold your hand) People Help the People- Birdy (more hand-holding|people help the people/and if you’re homesick/give me your hand and I’ll hold it) Medicine- Daughter (Morfin’s death|pick it up, pick it all up/and start again/you’ve got a second chance/you could go home/escape it all/it’s just irrelevant/it’s just medicine) This Woman’s Work- Greg Laswell (Goodsir’s panic attack|I know you have a little life in you yet/I know you have a lot of strength left/I should be crying, but I just can’t let it show/I should be hoping but I can’t stop thinking) Calm My Soul- Paper Route (Irving’s death|I’ve seen too much this year/I long for it to pass/the type of memories/that turn our heart to glass//in dust my ribs were formed/and I’ll return again/calm my soul) Helplessness Blues- Fleet Foxes (“do you know how I was appointed to this expedition?”|what’s my name, what’s my station, oh, just tell me what I should do/I don’t need to be kind to the armies of night that would do such injustice to you/or bow down and be grateful and say “sure, take all that you see”/to the men who move only in dimly-lit halls and determine my future for me) Dance to Another Tune- First Aid Kit (“I’m a fake, brother”|will you look at me?/take a good look at me and tell me who/it is that I am//everything is tiresome, everything grows old/with each secret revealed, there’s another to be told) We Don’t Eat- James Vincent McMorrow (“my father was a ridiculous man”|me, I was holding all of my secrets soft and hid/pages were folded, then there was nothing at all/so if in the future I might need myself a savior/I’ll remember what was written on that wall/that we don’t eat until your father’s at the table) Surrender the Night- My Chemical Romance (I didn’t know any of that|you surrender your heart/I surrender every dream/every weapon you’ve got/every secret that I keep) See Through- Pentatonix (“I’ve never said it out loud before now”|all of me uncharted/begs to be explored//I am see through, baby/and I don’t wanna hide/for the very first time) Unclear- Kodaline (“I always felt I deserved more”|when the future’s so unsure/when the future’s so unclear/so you swallow your heart and you swallow your pride/you gotta be tough if you wanna survive/they’ll chew you up and they’ll eat you alive/you shouldn’t give up on the dreams in your mind) Neptune- Sleeping At Last (“are we brothers, Francis?”|a strong wind at my back/so I lift up the only sail that I have/this tired white flag//I’m only honest when it rains/an open book with a torn out page/and my ink’s run out/I want to love you but I don’t know how) Brothers on a Hotel Bed- Death Cab for Cutie (Fitzjames looking at his bullet wounds|you may tire of me as our December sun is setting because I’m not who I used to be/no longer easy on the eyes but these wrinkles masterfully disguise/the youthful boy below who turned your way and saw/something he was not looking for: both a beginning and an end/but now he lives inside someone he does not recognize/when he catches his reflection on accident) human-Christina Perri (“worst kind of sorry”|I’m only human/and I crash and I break down/your words in my head, knives in my heart/you build me up and then I fall apart) Paint Me Black- Ben Hazelwood (“every man lies”|changing, rearranging/under your call, we all fall/just know that I won’t follow you further/I’m taking over, I’m now the leader) I’ll Follow You- Shinedown (“more than God loves them”|the first step is the one you believe in/the second one might be profound/I’ll follow you down through the eye of the storm/don’t worry I’ll keep you warm) All Fall Down- OneRepublic (walking out|yeah God love your soul and your aching bones/take a breath, take a step, meet me down below/everyone’s the same/our fingers to our toes/we just can’t get it right/but we’re on the road) Stay Gold- First Aid Kit (walking out|what if to love and be loved’s not enough?/what if I fall and can’t bear to get up?/oh, I wish, for once, we could stay gold) Soldier On- The Temper Trap (walking out|all that is gold is rusting/no one will know/when seasons cease to change and:/how far we’ve gone/how far we’re going/it’s the here and the now/and the love for the sound/of the moments that keep us moving) Chin Up- Copeland (Fitzjames collapses|back to where we started/losing who we were/everybody knows that/you’d break your neck to keep your chin up) Old Wounds- PVRIS (“there is time”|they say don’t open old wounds/but this is still brand new/and I’ve got nothing left to lose besides you/and I’ve already lost you once) Landfill- Daughter (Hickey killing Gibson|leave me in the rain/wait until my clothes cling to my frame/wipe away your tear stains/thought you said you didn’t feel pain/well this is torturous electricity/between both of us and this is/dangerous, 'cause I want you so much/but I hate your guts) Save Yourself- Birdy (“my body… use it”|heaven knows, heaven knows/there’s no way to save us/look at what we have become/empty hearts that spare no one/save yourself my darling/just be gone by morning) You’re Not Alone- Saosin (“God wants you to live”|you’re not alone/there is more to this, I know/you can make it out/you will live to tell) The Way It Ends- Landon Pigg (“help me out of it”|this is the way it ends/don’t tell me it’s meaningless//you held me and taught me how/I think I am ready now/if this is the way it ends/this is the way it’s meant to be) Goner- Twenty One Pilots (eye contact|I’m a goner, somebody catch my breath/I wanna be known by you) Carry You Home- James Blunt (Fitzjames dies|as strong as you were, tender you go/I’m watching you breathing for the last time/a song for your heart, but when it is quiet/I know what it means and I’ll carry you home) Corpse Roads- Keaton Henson [not on spotify] (“we both know what’s coming for me”|and don’t lie, don’t lie/don’t lie, I know we’re fixing to die/and I’ll be like this 'til the long sleeper cry/and I won’t give in, we’ll be dead in the eyes/and I’ll see the dark things that you all try to hide/and I won’t be the damnedest bit fucking surprised The Light Behind Your Eyes- My Chemical Romance (“at least love me enough to admit it”|never let them take the light behind your eyes/I’ll fail and lose this fight/never fade in the dark/just remember you will always burn as bright//when I’m here, no longer/you must be stronger) No Sound But the Wind- Editors (Peglar collapses|if I say shut your eyes/if I say look away/bury your face in my shoulder/think of a birthday/the things you put in your head/they will stay here forever/our blood is cold/and we’re alone, love/but I’m alone with you) Be Still- The Killers (“give me forty minutes”|be still/close your eyes/soon enough you’ll be on your own/steady and straight/and if they drag you through the mud/it doesn’t change what’s in your blood/(over rock, over chain, over trap, over plain)/when they knock you down/don’t break character) Cemetery- Say Anything (Hickey eating Gibson|you’re in my body/that’s where I think about you) White Foxes- Susanne Sundfør (“I’m hungry and I want to live”|hunger, hunger, is the purest sin/it is an empty church in a crowded bin) Sword and the Pen- Regina Spektor (“I love the C”|for those who still can recall/the desperate colors of fall/the sweet caresses of May/only in poems remain/no one recites them these days/for the shame/so what if nothing is safe/so what if no one is saved/no matter how sweet/no matter how brave/what if each to his own lonely grave/I don’t want to live without you) One Last Time- Jaymes Young (Bridgens holding Peglar’s hand|could I feel your skin on mine/before I have to say goodbye/could I breathe, please, one last time/you’re in my lungs before I curl up/and die) Fires- Allman Brown (Bridgens walks away to die|in a torch there’s a thousand years unknown/voices tell me a truth I nearly know/this will all soon be memory/I was made in the fires/of your care for me//and I will find you in the next life) Be Still- The Fray (“you can lie there, not feeling well, while I try and cheer you up”|be still and know that I’m with you/be still and know that I am here) Come Back When You Can- Barcelona (Sophia in the snow|come back when you can/let go, you’ll understand/you’ve done nothing at all to make me love you less/so come back when you can) Saturn- Sleeping At Last (“this place is beautiful to me even now”|with shortness of breath, I’ll explain the infinite/how rare and beautiful it truly is that we exist) If I Be Wrong- Wolf Larsen (Little and Le Vesconte go south|and what if I can’t, what if I can/what if I’m just an ordinary man/if there is a will, there is a way/I will escape for sure, I am David Blaine//and I have been wrong, I have been right/I have been both these things all in the same night) Tether- CHVRCHES (Jopson’s death|where’d you go, you were there by my side/keep believing it’s my turn to hide/in a place where we don’t have a prayer/there’s a tether that’s keeping me there) Two Evils- Bastille (“I didn’t have anywhere near an equal on this expedition, but you”|there are two ways to skin tonight/let’s see whose road gets there faster/this is a game, no wrongs, no right/only a winner and a loser/you and I, oh you and I/we’re not that different, you and I) Jupiter- Sleeping At Last (Goodsir’s suicide|I don’t know who I am, but now I know who I’m now//make my messes matter/make this chaos count/let every little fracture in me/shatter out loud) Bleeding Out- Imagine Dragons (Goodsir’s suicide|I’m bleeding out/so if the last thing that I do/is bring you down/I’ll bleed out for you/so I bare my skin/and I count my sins/and I close my eyes/and I take it in) Somebody to Die For- Hurts (“give me your gun, I’m the best shot here”|and I will let the devil know that/I was brave enough to die/and there’s no hell that he can show me/that’s deeper than my pride) The Keeper- Kina Grannis (Crozier muttering the names of his men|sand and stone, struggles to claim and own/(take my burden, I can’t bear the weight)/wars lost won, promises come undone/(I’ve been fighting, trying not to break)/nobody has to know//I will be your keeper) How’m I Supposed to Die- Civil Twilight (the last men falling|and the flesh that used to tingle/has turned a marble blue?/and you tell me that/we can never go back/what am I to say to that?//there’s only one thing left to do) Everything That Dies- Matthew and the Atlas (Crozier finding the last camps|you said everyone you know one day will surely die/but everything that dies in some way returns) Voices Off Camera- Rise Against (”close?”|we either choose to follow or be left on our own/so we’re leaving here on a less-travelled road/as desperate cries grow louder, I know we’re getting close, getting close) Friends Are Dead- Dresses (Crozier walking away with Silna|I’m wandering saintless debris/'cause the saints they arose/heaven took them home/and now I am lonely/this is how it ends, all my friends are dead/I know that I fucked up, the life of a cultural/how can I pretend that everything’s alright/when no one can find me alone in this wasteland?) Lovely- Billie Eilish (“decide in the spring”|isn’t it lovely? all alone/heart made of glass, my mind of stone/tear me to pieces, skin to bone/hello, welcome home/walking out of time/looking for a better place) I Am Only One- We Are the Fallen (Silna leaves|I’m on my own here/and no one’s left to be the hero of/this fairy tale gone wrong/as night will fall, my heart will die alone/ever after never came/and I’m still waiting for my heart to beat again/and all the dreams I’ve laid to rest/are ghosts that keep me/after all that I’ve become/I am only one) Ghost Towns- Radical Face (Crozier in the Arctic|'cause all my life is wrapped up in today/no past or future here/if I find my name’s no good/I just fall out of line/but I miss you/but there’s no comin’ home/there’s no comin’ home/with a name like mine) Exile- Show of Hands (Crozier in the Arctic|I can dream before the break of day/that I’m back with you again/then the morning blows it all away/and leaves an echo of your name/still a thousand miles lie between us/where we’re waking up alone/and what if I could cross a thousand borders/there’s no going home) Until the End- Breaking Benjamin (Crozier chooses to stay|why give up, why give in?/it’s not enough, it never is/so I will go on until the end/we’ve become desolate/it’s not enough, it never is/but I will go on until the end) Hurt- Johnny Cash (“we are gone”|what have I become/my sweetest friend/everyone I know goes away/in the end/and you could have it all/my empire of dirt/I will let you down/I will make you hurt) Bring Me Home-Fahrenhaidt (Crozier walks away|will you find, will you find, will you find me alone?/when you’re far out over the water I’ll be there too/will you find, will you find, will you find me and bring me home?/are you lost/are you chasing hollow dreams/are you lost/was it worth forsaking me?) The Ocean- The Bravery (Crozier and Ross|I climbed up a mountain, and looked off the edge/at all of the lives that I never have led/there’s one where I stayed with you across the sea/I wonder do you still think of me/I carry your image always in my head/folded and yellowed and torn at the edge/and I’ve looked upon it for so many years/slowly I am losing your face) In the Wind- Lord Huron (Robert Goodsir aboard Felix|you’ve been gone for a long long time/you’ve been in the wind, you’ve been on my mind/you are the purest soul I’ve ever known in my life//when you left I was far too young/to know you’re worth more than the moon and the sun/you are still alive when I look to the sky in the night) Frozen Oceans- Shiny Toy Guns (those left behind|ten thousand miles apart/a frozen ocean joins our hearts/I can’t wait to meet you when/the frozen waves meet ocean floors/you’ll be standing on the shore/I can’t wait to meet you then) Come Home- OneRepublic (those left behind|come home, come home/'cause I’ve been waiting for you/for so long, so long) Fields of Gold- Celtic Woman (nostalgia|you’ll remember me when the west wind moves/among the fields of barely/you can tell the sun in his jealous sky/when we walked in fields of gold) Arctic- Sleeping At Last (the last shot of Crozier)

Fic Breakdown for Closer, Chapter One (aka, the DVD Extras)

So, chapter one of Closer, the first installment in Somewhere in Canada (the Terror kink AU)... went up today! And let me tell you what, I am hype because this is my very first longfic in the Terror fandom, and it's centered around a subject very near and dear to my heart—BDSM. It's a love letter to power exchange, the sheer joy of kink, conventions, and sex education.

Like other fic breakdowns I've done, this'll be in three parts—technical notes (like POV and stylistic choices), story notes (like characterization and kink info), and then, instead of the editing section I usually include, I'm going to talk about specific lines at the end.

I blame Edward for the line notes, tbh. I love him, but he's a himbo, and many things went unobserved in the course of this story.

(Okay, fine, it's not entirely his fault. Some of it is that he's just so steeped in kink that he doesn't think twice about a bunch of the stuff going on.)

Technical Considerations

Inspiration: So this fic is a love letter to kink, and kink education, and conventions, which in my experience can be life-changing opportunities to meet people with similar interests, and also to be able to do some exploration of your own and figure out what makes you tick. I'm pretty sure there's an AU version of me that makes their living off kink education and the convention circuit, but (un)fortunately, in this particular universe, I am a fic writer (and, occasionally, a paid one as well).

Closer is also a love letter to rough physical play. I remember sitting in my very first workshop on the topic, and just being wide-eyed that a) this is a thing, b) it looks fun. (It is, actually, fun.) There's a ton of reasons I love it—and hopefully, after Closer concludes, you'll be able to see some of the reasons why—but I also love that physical play doesn't have any financial barriers to entry. (The irony of Edward "rich boy" Little being heavily into it has not escaped me.)

Timeline:  Hilariously, I actually started this verse for a Fitzier fic—it takes place six months from Closer, at the winter version of the conference—but while I was working my way through the Fitzier setup, I was like 'fuck it, I should write a quick one-off joplittle to establish the verse', and lo and behold, my "quick one-off" turned out to be sixty k, and it runs parallel to a Tozer/Irving that I  have yet to write, but which is visible in Closer if you squint. So, uh, oops.

So this story fits into a very specific space in the timeline—that is, it's prior to Fitzjames and Crozier having met, but it's after the (second) Cracroft/Crozier breakup. (If you were wondering if that's why Francis isn't running his own damn booth, yes, that's why. He's very likely depression drinking in London at this very moment.)

Setting: I wanted to stay true to the spirit of the whole, you know, boatload of white men going to Canada and being confused, but I wanted them to go for better reasons. It's so rare that we get shows set in Canada, you know? And I feel very passionately about our winters here, in that I complain about them while they're happening, but I do also kind of enjoy the challenge, in a really fucked-up sort of a way. So I set the fic in Canada too, and then, because I was explicitly setting it here, I also got to lean into a bunch of Canadian stereotypes (like Goodsir living his best life in plaid and denim and the inevitable Tim Horton's jokes) and I actually had a lot of fun doing it, so I guess that was something I learned about myself.

Story Considerations:

Primary Kinks: So most people involved in BDSM have a "thing"—you know, the thing that they care about more than they care about any other things. And one of the most fun things for me about creating an AU like this is going through the characters and figuring out what everybody's niche is. Like, it makes sense to me that Hickey would be that edgeplay asshole that's in the kink scene specifically so he can fuck with people. Tozer having a military fetish (and also being a bit of a kink snob) totally fits with his whole "now what the bloody hell do people think that means?" speech.

If you've ever been to a fetish convention, you've seen guys like Blanky, who have been in the scene forever, and made their name handcrafting BDSM gear. They're easy to talk to, and will totally tell you about that time they ran an entire scene using only items found in their kitchen. You've seen women like Sophia Cracroft, who have a cluster of people surrounding her at all times, and who is never short of someone who will bring her tea if it looks like she's thirsty. And you've also seen guys like Ross, who are reasonably famous in their areas of expertise—the kind of guy that you see across the hall, and you're like "shit, is that James Clark Ross?" (And it is! Holy shit!)

Canadian Kink: So! I live in the prairies, and it's as conservative as hell out here. That means there's some specifics to kink culture that I'm not sure translate to other parts of Canada—and they definitely don't translate back to England. For example, every public event I've ever been to (by which I mean every event that wasn't being held in someone's house) has mandated that penetration cannot occur during the event. No toys in orifices, no bits in other bits, no mucous membranes touching, no oral, no fingering, no handjobs, no intercourse, all that kind of stuff. I'm not convinced that you couldn't have sex in a dungeon in, say, Vancouver, or Toronto, or any of the other bigger centers—but that hasn't been my experience in the prairies, and I kept those restrictions for plot purposes in Closer. (Sorry, Jopson. I promise I still love you.)

Canadian weapons laws being what they are also means that some of the gear that's totally okay in other places (like butterfly knives) is totally illegal in Canada (sorry, Tozer. No apologies for you, Hickey.). The sap gloves that Edward is mourning are, unfortunately, one of the items that get lost in the shuffle. Sap gloves are pretty neat—they're leather gloves which are weighted with lead on the knuckles/backs of the hands. They make your punches harder, but they also protect your hands—and, for somebody like Edward, who does a lot of punching when he plays, that protection is definitely beneficial. Plus, they're a bit of a signalling thing—having a set of sap gloves hanging off your belt makes it very clear what kind of things you're into, and I think Edward is a bit bereft not having that this weekend, because he's not used to having to make those introductions cold.

Edgeplay: There's sort of a, er. Spectrum of what is and isn't considered to be "acceptable" kink, even within the kink community. Some kinds of kink are seen as more publicly acceptable, and some kinds are relegated back to the fringes and the dark corners. In the context of Closer, that means Tozer, Hickey, and Little are our resident edgeplayers. This isn't a judgement on the type of play they do (well, it is a judgement on Hickey, but we don't have time to go into *gestures* all that), but it is a statement about the way that type of play is perceived. Sophia Cracroft can, with very little finessing, put photographs of her in rope suspension onto her various social media accounts, and as long as she's clothed, it's perfectly acceptable content to just have out there, and people are going to call it artistic and Instagram-worthy. Tozer, on the other hand, ain't getting any recordings of interrogation scenes he's run posted anywhere except to Pornhub.  (The less we say about Hickey's knife-play, the better.)

Similarly, because the rough physical play that Edward does looks fairly intense from the outside (and is pretty intense from the inside), he gets to live in the not-that-publicly-acceptable area of kink. The area of kink where they usually put the crash mats at the far end of the dungeon, because that way, if you don't want to watch two people whaling on each other with their fists, you don't need to see it. This "stigma" is important in Edward's conception of himself, because on one hand, we see in his conversation with Goodsir that Edward absolutely knows his shit and, hero-worship of Crozier aside, has the knowledge base to be a fantastic educator in his own right—but we also see the subtle kinkshaming coming from both Hickey and Tozer about where Edward's place is in all this. That is to say—Edward's place is with them, in the dark shadowy spots, and not in the "socially acceptable" circles that Crozier's circle of people (Jopson included) are perceived to be running in. (There's a sense, coming from Tozer, that there's no point in Edward pursuing getting onto the org committee for the conference itself, because they won't want someone like Edward there—but, again, that's some pretty insidious kinkshaming coming from Tozer, and we could all just let that go and be better for it. Goodsir clearly doesn't feel like Edward's presence would be a detriment.)

So, yeah. I'll excuse Tozer's kinkshaming bullshit temporarily, as he needs to sort himself out. I don't think he's trying to drag Edward down so much as he just thinks Edward's being a bit delusional, and wants to save him the disappointment when Jopson invariably rejects him for being way too kinky and intense. (If Edward is moping around all weekend, he'll be in the hotel room, and how's Tozer supposed to get his dick sucked by random hookups then? "Yeah, come on back to mine, don't mind my roommate, he's a moody bastard and won't participate even if we ask." Not winning any prizes there, lads.)

I won't excuse Hickey's kinkshaming; he's definitely trying to make Edward feel like shit on purpose. I could speculate as to the reasons, but they're probably gross. (I mean, I know the reasons. Hickey's gonna Hickey.)

(There's a whole entire essay I could write about incorrect assumptions that literally everyone is making about the type of play Thomas Jopson must be into, based on his nice hair and nice eyes and nice smile, but I'll just let Jopson handle those corrections on his own, as he's very capable of doing so.)

Concerning the Chapter Title: If you were gonna take a risk, Neddo, the social was the time to do it—and you done fucked that up, sweetheart.

Tomorrow is another day. Give it another shot then, yeah?

Line Notes:

Edward looks across the hall again, cringes. “No, fuck, that’s—no, I think that’s Sophia Cracroft, Sol, I’m not—Christ. Sophia Cracroft, Jesus.”

I will never not find this introduction to Edward Little fucking hilarious, because he comes off as so competent from Jopson's POV when he's arguing with Hickey in the parking lot, and yet the moment we see Edward in his own POV, he's just a mess. I love him very much, but he's a mess. This was one of the deciding factors in the dual POV as well—I knew going in that the brunt of the story was going to be from Edward's POV, but weaving in those occasional Jopson bits lets us see how Edward looks from the other side.

(Also, Tozer three hundred percent knows exactly who Sophia Cracroft is, because he demonstrates that, like, two sentences later, meaning that he’s literally just winding Edward up here, and it goes right over Edward’s head. God.)

It’s the older guy across the hall that’s laughing his ass off, but the cutie is standing right next to him, looking down at his phone, his ears charmingly pink. 

As a reminder, Edward is wearing a white tank, and just stretched his arms out behind his back. The nipple piercings are very obvious, Jopson was three hundred percent staring, and Blanky definitely caught him and is laughing his ass off about it.

“…I know what this is about,” Tozer says, tying an orange bandana around his left bicep.

The orange bandana is a hanky code thing—which, yes, it's dated, and it's not really in use anymore, but Tozer seems like the kind of guy that would tattoo his kinks on his forehead just so everybody could see them if they would all fit. Failing to find any way to gracefully do that, we instead have the orange hanky ("anything goes") on the left arm ("top").

(Older guy, thankfully, is wearing a ring on the fourth finger of his left hand. Cutie isn’t. So there’s no obvious problems there.)

Jopson not wearing a ring indicates literally nothing about whether or not he's available, but I guess whatever makes Edward feel better about himself is fine. He's right with his assumption about Jopson, in this case, but it's literally nothing more than a wild guess, and the mental hoops he's jumping through only exist to make him feel better about himself.

(Esther usually attends these events with Blanky—but somebody needed to hold down the fort in London this time, and so she's in London at present. It's for the best, she can check on Francis every so often.)

[Hickey] sticks his hand in the pocket of his latex cargo shorts...

I won't take criticism on this fashion statement, constructive or otherwise.



So, that's it for this week! Chapter two, Aware, goes up next Friday! See you then! And if you have questions or anything in the meantime, you can always drop me an ask on tumblr or Curious Cat!

Of scornful shores chapter 2

A happy ending :) [AO3] [chapter 1]

Everything was so difficult. Breathing was difficult; opening his eyes was difficult; chewing was difficult. Hearing wasn’t difficult and it was his only comfort and pleasure in this agony. He didn’t have the strength anymore to speak, but his Ned spoke to him nonetheless all day long. The others had died quickly, and each time Ned had come back wailing to him. Thomas knew it weighted heavily on him, these deaths, these men he couldn’t save. He was always floating in timeless darkness. Ned left him a lot. He always brought back bugs and chew it for him so he could eat them more easily. He was always promising him he’d bring back a rabbit next time, something hearty to eat for the two of them. Thomas didn’t care. He just wanted to die at the same time as Ned, so he wouldn’t be left alone. Sometimes, when he came to settle down in his bed and take him in his arms (now so thin, yet still strong), Thomas wished they could die like this, in their sleep, the two of them entwined.

That would be kinder that the fate awaiting them.

He was pulled out of sleep by voices. He recognized Ned’s easily enough, but not the others. He couldn’t make out what they were saying. They were probably outside the tent. Thomas fought hard against the exhaustion trying to put him back to sleep. There were raised voices, almost shouts. It was Ned. He sounded pleading. More voices. Ned sounded calmer. He heard movements. Someone entered the tent.

“We’re saved!” was sobbing Ned. “We’re saved Tom!”

Thomas made the excruciating effort of opening his eyes. His blurry sight focused on his dear Edward weeping, looking the happiest he had ever seen him be. He tried to smile, but he couldn’t. Darkness swallowed him up again. He woke up when he got jostled. He wasn’t in his bed anymore. He heard voices. He thought he recognized Ned’s in one of them. Thomas realized he was outside, dragged on something, before sinking into sleep again. He emerged again to someone putting food into his mouth. He accepted it, swallowed it without question. He was so exhausted. He couldn’t move his limbs anymore. His life was resumed to faint sounds of Ned’s voice and food in his mouth. Slowly his hearing sharpened. He smelled things again. He felt foreign touches on him, hands that were not Ned’s. He started to feel stronger.

When he was strong enough to open his eyes, he saw he was in a tent unlike those of the Navy. He was wrapped in wolfskin blankets, and there was a fire at the center. Another time, he saw a native woman chew meat for him to eat and he had thousands of questions but he couldn’t speak. He still felt exhausted, so exhausted, but often he felt Ned’s presence by his side, his arms around him, his voice against his ear soothing him, telling him they were safe now. The Inuit people had taken pity on them both and had took them in. Now Ned was always away with the men learning how to hunt, dressed just like them and clean shaven. He could be gone for days but he always came back. He would clean Thomas, help him eat, sleep with him under the wolfskin blankets. Exactly two days after Thomas managed to sit up for the first time, Crozier entered his tent and wept as he took him in a crushing embrace.

At that very precise moment (he had come back, come back to him), he knew that they were all truly saved.

(Crozier would be the one giving him his first proper shaving in an eternity, on the whaler bringing them back to England.)

(He spent his first night in a real bed in Ned’s arms, strong and healthy again as they should be.)

 (His end, it seemed, had in fact been his beginning.)

“ Marry me. “ (from Goodsir ofc!!)

Traik: There is Wonder Here. A KimbleSir Fanfic.

by myxcenterxstage (and some contributions from brassandblue!)

Prologue: [link]

~*~

‘Sleep, I’ll carry you. You can carry me later,’ Harry had insisted.

‘But how can I possibly carry you…?’

Comforted in his arms, Priscilla mumbled in groggy exhaustion as she clung to Harry for dear life. Her tired eyes looked up at Goodsir a moment, before closing once more. As he walked on, the freezing winter air burned through the shield of layers of fabric wear to their cold forms. Her face buried into the crevice of his neck and shoulder in search for any trace of warmth against the Arctic tundra.

The Arctic was merciless since their narrow escape from Hickey’s Rescue Camp. They had hoped at some point to reunite with Crozier’s group. And feared each night to fall prey to the Tuunbaq. But their trail had been one of solitude. They were the only man and woman in all directions the eye could see to the horizon. It almost felt as though they were the only two people on the planet at times.

At least, of all persons, Priscilla was so grateful to be with her last living closest friend. Dr. Harry Goodsir.

[more under the cut!]

The pair had formed a special bond since the halcyon days in Baffin Bay. Staying up til well past the first watch, discussing every topic under the sun on the natural studies and arctic marine life. (As well as zoological, anatomical, and pathological observations.) He was the first to be bold enough to ask her for a dance at the expedition’s first Winter celebration. And they had always found a sure solace of comfort in each other’s company in the consecutive days of grief that occurred all too often on this voyage. Goodsir was fiercely protective of her at the Mutineer camp. And that continued through these many miles distance.

In the quiet hours, they had bared their souls to one another. That raw, exposed, and open truth that was all that was left of their humanity. Speaking of childhood. Their hopes and their dreams. Priscilla even confessed her scandal and its consequences that awaited her back home in London. To her surprise, without any further explanation, Goodsir expressed that she was innocent on her part, furthermore to him it sounded like none of it was her fault entirely. And in fact, he assured her it was impossible for him to think any less of her.

Come morning, Goodsir would remark, “There is wonder here. This place is beautiful to me, even now.” To which Priscilla nodded in silent awe, much to her surprise how optimistic he could still remain.

Tragic how the effects of their turmoil would inevitably catch up with them.

It had taken its toll on Priscilla first, being the more frail bodied. However, perhaps it wasn’t only the lead, the malnutrition, the Arctic conditions killing her. That lingering darkness that crawled in the back of her mind. The agonizing burden of grief that weighed her down with every waking moment. That, when paired with all pains of imminent death, it had finally succeeded in robbing her of her smile. And it was next targeting her very will to live. Cooing that there was a home waiting for her in name only.

And even when the willpower to live felt crippled against the reality of their condition, one look to Harry and his stubborn determination to clinging to whatever hope to survive they had left was enough to tell her she had to press on in spite of it all. His arms that carried her felt more like home. And so did the sound of his voice.

In her half-slumber, she let out a soft grunt at the familiar sound. Were those… birds?

Priscilla found herself jostled awake when they suddenly fell.

“Harry!” she shrieked in panic, seeing his face to the ground. “Are you all right?!”

Fearing the worst, she helped him sit up, brushing the dirt off his face with her hands. “What’s wrong, Harry? Why are you crying?”

His words finally made everything clear what had happened. She stared at him in disbelief, then at her hands - that was dirt on her fingertips - greenery! The breeze carried the salty air of the ocean. Was it all a dream? A hallucination?

For the first time in weeks - Priscilla smiled.

Finally, a broad genuine smile. A tear streamed down her cheek, and then another, and another. Until she shut her eyes and wrapped her arms around Goodsir’s neck into the tightest embrace. She let out a choked exhale, a release of relief as she broke down into uncontrollable sobs.

They made it, they finally made it.

“I can’t believe it, we’ve done it!” She could barely speak. The scurvy made all movement unbearable, but it was hardly noticeable compared to the abounding joy they shared.

“We’ve done it, at last…!”

~*~

Priscilla would never forget that feeling of exhilaration and overwhelming joy in restored hope when they had finally reached the sea. When Goodsir showed her how the lichens were edible. Her exclamation of cheer to the first fish he managed to catch. His wide and almost childish grin across his face to his triumph, followed by moments of their pensive observation as to the exact type of fish, even if it was for a few fleeting seconds - the naturalists that they were, of course - before consuming it. A feast, they’d always remember, followed by their long overdue rest.

They were later reunited with the other remaining members of the expedition and they aided them to some modicum of better health.

And eventually, a whaling ship finally spotted them and brought them all to safer harbors.

So here they were now. Having crossed the Atlantic ocean, almost home. England’s shores would be on the horizon at any moment. And then…

And then what? Was that it?

The chapter of the Franklin Expedition would be concluded? They had found the Northwest Passage in the end… but at what cost? Too many were lost. Too many tears were shed…

Apparently, the extraneous journey had come to an end. They would all return to their respective homes, return to their lives. She would face her scandal equipped with the knowledge she learned to survive against the worst of the Arctic itself.

But that wasn’t the worst of what was to come. To Priscilla’s chagrin, that would also mean having to say goodbye. How she didn’t want to… these men were no longer ordinary men when they first voyaged in 1845, but were now extended family.

And there was one, in particular, she would have the most difficulty parting with…

“—Doctor Goodsir!” Priscilla chirped as Harry arrived. Inexplicably she had found herself in an inescapable daze all afternoon, but the sight of him instantly brought out her smile as he joined her side.

He had been so doting to her to ensure her recovery from the lead poisoning and scurvy would be a sure one and was persistently very protective of her. She always had a sense of transparent ease around him, a certain sanctuary in each other’s company. His same tenderness with which he carried her across those last miles…

Their conversation had begun as the usual - Goodsir’s concern for her health. She inquiring of his own. And it soon progressed to how glad they were to finally return home. Priscilla expressed how bittersweet it all felt - after so long to return to some semblance of ‘normalcy’ and having to reluctantly say a final goodbye to everyone once they reach the docks.

“Promise that you’ll always write to me, Harry?” she asked poignantly.

It was then that their conversation had taken an entirely unexpectedly different turn.

‘Marry Me?’

Priscilla’s blue eyes widened. Had he just — Her face glowed a hot red blush. — Proposed to her? She was momentarily rendered speechless, studying his face as to what could have prompted this.

“That is, I, I—“ Catching himself, Goodsir stammered to find his tongue again, realizing his sudden outburst to declare so great a question. “Miss Kimbleton.” He swallowed. “— I find myself greatly fancying and admiring you.” His gaze never left hers. “As we walked these hundreds of miles together, I would be happy to walk beside you for the rest of my life.”

“Harry…!” Tongue-tied herself in a flustered state, Priscilla searched for his hand to hold - only to realize to her surprise that their fingers were already subconsciously intertwined.

This was followed by a flurry of Goodsir profusely apologizing, his internal thoughts in upheaval at what he has done. “I had no intentions to put you in the position to answer that kind of question —“ The doctor confessed his worry that they would never see each other again, and that after all they had been through - how he didn’t want to lose her. Someone who he so cherished. “But if you have no inclination to accept, I should still wish to remain friends, Miss Kimbleton.”

“No, no! On the contrary!—“ Her heart began to race. With her mouth slightly ajar as she listened to him. “Dearest Harry…” She bashfully looked down and looked back up at him with a warm, bright smile and adoring expression. “It’s something I’ve secretly wished for you to ask me for so long. Yes! My answer is yes!” she repeated, chuckling. “I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life with anyone else but you.”

Harry’s face luminated, holding her hands tighter, “I want to take you with me to Edinburgh. To meet my family.” he chuckling with her “— I want to travel the world with you! To see all the world’s beauty… together.”

“I would be honored, Doctor! Your heart is so brave, and mind so brilliant, and character so giving. You see the best in people, and I always felt…” She blinked back tears, “Those hundreds of miles on foot we’ve crossed together… you’ve seen me in my darkest hours. You both accepted and supported me - and were the first to express my innocence to a past that’s only haunted me. And when I thought I couldn’t walk another step…” Her gaze lowered, the experience would follow her like a shadow, it seemed.

Smiling tenderly, Harry cupped the side of her face to lift it “I’d gladly carry you for miles all over again to ensure you’re safe.”

Priscilla stared at him a long while, taken aback with the same look of gratitude when in that Arctic tundra after she confessed her scandal and he expressed how nothing she could have done, past or present, guilty or innocent, would diminish his respect for her. “What have I done to deserve someone as goodhearted as you?”

“I could very well ask you the same.” Goodsir stroked her golden hair with his other hand before resting it to cup her face with both hands. “I love you, Priscilla.”

Priscilla’s eyes sparkled, “Oh Harry, and how I love you.”

After a long exchanged look of adoration, they kissed.

“You were right all along.” Priscilla whispered, gazing up into Goodsir’s eyes, “There is wonder here.”

Revenge is visited upon Corvaia Le Fleur, co-conspirator in abuses inflicted upon Meziene during her earliest years in Ishgard.

For loose mentions: @thegoddamnhawkman @chemicalbydefault @alred-briarthorne

Preparations had been made well in advance. She felt the small vial taped precariously against her chest, just under the thin cloth of her gown. Meziene Zujier took in a breath as she ascended the stairs of the Viper Den. She passed through the low lit hallways as a ghost. Most of the girls that took residence there had gone to their clients for the night. Some still labored on their appearance with a cosmetologist from the Jeweled Crozier in their rooms. She could hear the occasional groan of someone unaccustomed to the harsh pull that their signature updos required.

And yet none of it mattered to her. She crested the staircase, and there she stood a moment with her eyes upon the farthest door. The Revered Mother’s room. The woman took Sunday evenings largely to herself. Personal calls only. No business. Meziene had no intention of discussing business. She heard a pair of girls come and go below. The less people there, the better.

She knocked gently on the Revered Mother’s door. A long pause filled the air before Corvaia called out,” Who is it?”

“It’s Meziene, Revered Mother. Have you a moment?” Meziene kept her voice low.

“I have a little time. I’ve plans for the evening. Please come in.”

Meziene pushed the door and allowed herself inside. Through the years, little had changed. Corvaia kept her quarters as an office and parlor for her guests only. The same oak bar cart sat in the eastern corner. The same two crystal glasses sat on a golden tray. The same crystal whiskey decanter rested between them.  She could count on these things in her plan, and a measure of relief melted the cold in her bones when she found it all the same.

“What is it, my dear? You know I don’t wish to discuss business on Sundays,” Corvaia sat on the opposite side of the room, back to the door.

There she primed for a night out. Meziene watched her in the mirror as her elder pinned her own hair in delicate spirals. This had been unexpected. The Black Viper felt her mind rush to find her own alibi, should Corvaia be discovered in the night by whomever it was she planned to meet. A possibility came to mind as the woman crossed to the bar.

“I wanted to thank you personally for your suggestion on schooling for my son. He started last week, and he is enjoying himself quite a bit. Would you like a drink?” Meziene lifted the decanter toward the Revered Mother.

She watched the woman eye the scene through the mirror. A moment’s silence passed before she spoke, “ I don’t see why not. It’s going to be a long night.”

Easier than anticipated. Meziene turned in to face the cart, back to Corvaia. Neither woman could see the other, and this worked to her advantage. Meziene removed the small vial taped to her chest from beneath her dress, and she poured the ounce of liquid into the first cup. Disguised under the sound of her opening the decanter, Corvaia had no idea that poison had been introduced. She could not read Meziene with her back turned.

The Black Viper poured two glasses. One for herself, one for her victim. She made sure the poisoned glass was in her right hand, and on her approach to the vanity, she inspected the glass for any signs. As promised, the liquid had joined the liquor seamlessly.  Meziene plastered a warm smile on her face as she laid the glass on the edge of the vanity.

“What is tonight? I thought you didn’t take gigs on Sunday,” Meziene challenged her.

“Normally, no. But, a high spending client requested it.”

She took only one client, Meziene knew. Rellorin Eleftheriou, the distant uncle to the man who introduced Meziene to the Vipers in the first place. While a potential discovery could be a result of this arrangement, she found delight in the fact it would be him. He had to know what was coming. It made the hunt more enjoyable. Even now, she felt an elation singing in her blood. Corvaia had not even taken up her glass.

“At least it is only for a night,” Meziene hummed and sipped at her glass.

“Indeed,” Corvaia paused to examine herself in the mirror. Satisfied with the placement of each curl, she turned away with her face only half painted to take up her glass. She refused to paint her lips while whiskey waited. “You mentioned your boy. He’s quite the reader, isn’t he?”

“Oh, he is. He’s learned from us reading to him, mostly. Having someone to teach him properly will help him a great deal. The less he memorizes a book and the more he can actually read it, the better. I get tired of reading Moogle Over the Moon.”

The sentiment brought a smile to Corvaia’s pale lips as she took the first sip of her death. Meziene could not help herself from lifting her head in a silent victory.

“Such a sweet thing. And lucky for you, he has a proper father now. Did I hear correctly that you’d found Rene Devereaux of all men sired him?”

“That’s correct. Took a miraculous coincidence to reveal, but it is for the best. Alor, Eyline, and I worried he could have any number of small personality...quirks lingering from men like Alaric and Raceaux,” Meziene answered.

“It wouldn’t do for him to be a violent child. The circumstances of his birth will be trouble enough,” Corvaia sat her glass aside, and she leaned into her vanity seat heavily,” I am glad it worked out for you, my dear.”

“So am I,” The Black Viper polished off the last of her whiskey, and she leaned down to press a near ceremonial kiss to both of the Revered Mother’s cheeks,” don’t let me keep you, Revered Mother. I apologize for interrupting you.”

“There is no need. I welcome your every visit,” the woman lied. She returned each kiss and released Meziene to stand.

With goodbyes said, Meziene made her way out of the Revered Mother’s quarters. The signs were already there. She saw a light sheet of sweat upon the woman’s brow. It could be anything, but the fire had no been so high to bring it about. It would end that night, and Meziene could not help the slight spring in her step that carried her quickly to the bottom of the stairs.

She had to make sure she was nowhere near Ishgard when the poison did its work. She remembered a fondly remembered tavern deep in the Shroud, a place open on Sunday nights. There, she could hide among friends. No Knight would make the trek willingly, nor speak to every patron to confirm her alibi. Two dozen people to confirm she had not been in Ishgard that day. Only there, drinking herself to such a stupor she had to get a room.

The act lingered on her mind from door to aetheryte, and from aetheryte to door. Even at barside, Meziene found her thoughts going north. Had it worked? Had Corvaia met her end as intended?

She had. Before the night was out, a letter had been sent posthaste to all members of the Viper Den that a most unfortunate incident had occurred. The poor post-moogle who came to deliver it to Meziene Zujier’s home had worn himself near to tears to get it there at the appropriate hour.

Lady-Vipers,

I have the most unfortunate duty of informing you that our Revered Mother, Corvaia Le Fleur, passed this evening due to complications of the heart. The chirurgeon's have confirmed an attack set upon her before the fifteenth hour, and no Viper remained in the building to hear any cries for help. She was discovered by her benefactor when he came to retrieve her for the evening.

We are all greatly saddened at this passing. Corvaia served us as our beloved mother for twenty years, and she touched all of our lives. Her burial arrangements will be handled by her primary benefactor, Lord Rellorin Eleftheriou. He sends his condolences.

Please, take this time to grieve. Our customs offer us a week to come to terms with the passing of our Revered Mother before another is chosen from among our eldest. I will write again when we know more of the burial arrangements.

Yours,

Melanie Croix