#cause the goal in my family is always to Win At Ordering so obviously two people can't order the same thing
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We're like a family here.
#middleman's love#middleman's love the series#asianlgbtqdramas#boyslovesource#userdramas#usergooseras#tuseralexa#minhyowon#*#*mml#as should be apparent given my choice in url. i love a quality friend group#also i hope the not ordering the same thing resonated with everyone else as much as it did me#cause the goal in my family is always to Win At Ordering so obviously two people can't order the same thing#anyways. maybe one day i'll actually gif the main couple from this show
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So I just got through chapter’s 51 and 52 of Attack on Titan, and one thing that stuck out to me in 51, other than Levi’s obvious, deep anger with Erwin, which I’ll talk about in a minute, was how Levi made it a point to tell Connie that he’d done a good job after coming back with Hange from investigating his village. Once again we see here Levi’s immense compassion for other people. Nobody else really thought to give Connie that encouragement, despite his obvious distress in that moment. They all were aware that Connie had lost everyone in his village, including his family, so it really demonstrates Levi’s thoughtfulness, once again, for other people and what they’re going through, that he takes the time to say just a few, kind words to Connie here.
Then of course, there’s the big exchange in this chapter between Levi and Erwin, and there’s so much going on here. But the first thing I noticed is the shift in Levi’s attitude, after he notices Erwin smiling upon hearing Hange’s theory about the Titan’s being humans. At the beginning of this scene, Levi is showing Erwin a great deal of concern for his physical state, apologizing to him for him and Pixis showing up to talk, knowing how tired he must still be, saying to Erwin that he’ll understand if he would rather him and Pixis just come back later so he can keep sleeping. Levi is giving Erwin the option here to deal with all of these new developments that they’re all dealing with later, and that offers a really insightful glimpse into the kind of respect and consideration Levi has for Erwin leading up to this point in the story.
What’s really interesting is the shift in Levi’s attitude here, after he sees Erwin smiling. Levi starts to try and ask Erwin a question, after Hange’s revelations about the Titans, and he sees Erwin smiling to himself with a glazed, distant look in his eyes, and Levi’s horror is readily apparent. He figures out almost immediately that Erwin is excited by this news, and Levi’s reaction is one of repulsion. He even tells Erwin that he’s going to make him sick. I think Levi’s reaction here is also partly fueled by his own feelings of deep dismay and horror at learning that all this time, he’s been killing other human beings. So to see Erwin seemingly HAPPY about this revelation must seem particularly grotesque to Levi in that moment, while he’s dealing with his own feelings of guilt and despair and hopelessness. Levi’s anger here is REALLY obvious, as he asks Erwin if this is the real reason he joined the Survey Corps. We see Levi’s belief in Erwin starting to erode here, in real time. Part of Levi’s anger, I think, must also stem from knowing that he’s put his faith entirely in Erwin, followed him with full belief in Erwin’s altruistic intentions, but now he has to face the possibility that his faith has been misplaced, that indeed the very REASON he joined the Corps to begin with, his faith in Erwin and his greater vision, may have been built on a lie. This coming on the heels of realizing that Titans were actually humans, and he’s dedicated himself to killing them for years. All of this leads you to really understand Levi’s controlled fury at Erwin in this scene. When Erwin gets annoyed himself at Levi and tells him to lay off of him, and asks him to show him some pity, Levi says with obvious derision that, yeah, Erwin IS pitiful. We see later in the scene Levi turn Erwin’s own words back on him, about him being mentally and physically exhausted, almost mocking Erwin with them as he reveals to him that he’s chosen to make the 104th his new squad and had Eren and Historia moved to an isolated location. Levi’s anger here is really palpable, and it demonstrates the tension I think Levi’s probably always had with Erwin and their relationship.
Levi respects Erwin immensely, and I have no doubt he’d been ready to tell Erwin about his plans for the 104th with a lot more cordiality and willingness to involve him in that decision before Erwin’s motivations became revealed to him here. But there’s always been that kind of conflict between them too, where Levi was willing to put his faith totally in Erwin’s vision, and in his ability to make the right choices, in order to advance the cause of humanity, but at the same time, felt deeply uncomfortable at times with Erwin’s methods towards achieving that goal, his willingness to sacrifice the lives of so many to that end, often resulting in the deaths of soldiers with no, substantial gain to be had. He’s deeply aware of Erwin’s ruthlessness in getting the job done (we see that awareness later in chapter 52, when he asks Hange if they should run or kill their enemies before they can strike, and says it’s just like something Erwin would do when Hange says both). It was Levi’s faith in Erwin, though, and his belief in Erwin’s purity and the righteousness of his cause, that allowed Levi to put his misgivings about Erwin’s methods aside, because he fully believed Erwin’s intentions were only to benefit humanity, and win them back their freedom someday. So seeing Erwin smiling here, and having that faith in Erwin’s intentions thrown into question, alongside the awful revelation that Titan’s are actually humans, is obviously a pretty devastating blow to Levi’s own sense of balance and place, throwing into doubt what it is he’s been fighting for all this time, whether it was even real or not. It’s like in one, fell swoop, Levi’s lost any amount of certainty in both what they’ve all been fighting for this whole time, and in the person he had put the most faith and trust in to guide them in the right direction. I’m not sure how people could miss Levi’s anger towards Erwin here, or the reasons for it. Levi is shown something in Erwin that makes him seriously doubt whether Erwin actually cares about humanity at all, or people at all. Erwin appears happy that it turned out that Titan’s were humans, and Levi has no context, no way of knowing WHY Erwin would be happy about that. He doesn’t know about his father, or the things his father told him, or how his father died. So to Levi, it must just seem like Erwin is getting some sort of sick joy out of the revelation. Again, to see something like that in the person you believed in the most, a person you admired deeply and thought of as superior to you, as holding a greater vision than you ever could, would be really, really hard. It’s like Levi’s hero letting him down in the worst way possible.
I think this should also be looked at in the context of Levi’s own experiences in life, and how that shaped his world view. Levi comes from an extremely hard, deprived background, one of extreme poverty and desperation and violence. That background, that difficult childhood, resulted in a necessary cynicism and jadedness in Levi. He knows the way the world works, knows how hard life is, and how cruel and ruthless people can be. He grew up in a world where there was no pretense, no civility or politeness to hide behind. He grew up in a world where it was kill or be killed. We see this weary understanding of how things really are later, again, in chapter 52, when Levi is explaining to Hange and the rest that they have two options, because the MP’s and those they work for aren’t going to just give up on getting their hands on Eren and Historia. He knows they’re only going to try more forcefully and violently to get what they want, because that’s the way the world works, and that’s the way people are. He also shows his worldly understanding of these sorts of things when he asks Hange how many of Nick’s fingernails they pulled, and knows that Nick likely didn’t talk because they pulled more than one. It tells us about Levi’s experience and how he’s been exposed to the darker, crueler side of humanity, more than anyone else in that room.
So Levi also understands that if they just wait around, they’ll all eventually be killed. He understands they can’t be passive here, and have to act immediately. He impresses that reality unto Hange, who’s still reeling from Nick’s death, and forces her to make a decision as to what their next move should be. He doesn’t allow her to wallow in her despair, and he does this for the sake of Eren and Historia, and all of them. Once again, we see Levi being most concerned for the greater good, ready to act however is needed to help the most people. He knows Hange is hurting, but he knows also that none of them can afford to be, as he says to her, timid. They have to move. Well, anyway, my point that I’m trying to make is that Levi’s life experience has forced him to be cynical about other people’s motivations and characters, about concepts of nobility and morality. To look at other people’s true intentions with a skeptical eye, because he grew up in a cut-throat environment, exposed to deep poverty, trauma and pain, where people no doubt would turn on you, or abandon you in a moment for nothing more than a scrap of bread. With that in mind, you have to realize that Levi’s faith in Erwin is rather remarkable. That he’s able to BELIEVE that deeply in another person, to believe in another person’s goodness, and purity of intention, given Levi’s background and the life he’s lived, is extraordinary, and really tells us so much about who Levi really is. Despite every experience in his life informing him that he should be skeptical and cynical and mistrustful of people and their intentions, despite his every experience telling him that the world is a cruel, ugly, awful place filled with loss, pain and grief, Levi still wants so much to believe in something better. To believe in purity of hearts and intentions, to believe in a higher morality and goodness. And despite all of his life experience telling him otherwise, Levi is able to believe that’s who Erwin is. A person with a higher, better moral standing, a person with a pure and true heart. He believes it all the way. So, to then have that faith, which Levi somehow held onto against all odds and reason, dashed against the rocks in a single, terrible moment of realization, would be horrible. Levi is someone who wants so much to believe there can be a better world, with better people in it. And I think Erwin represented that possibility to Levi, for a long time. And so to learn that his belief in Erwin was, perhaps, too idealistic, to have that skepticism that his life’s beaten into him affirmed, rather than rejected, must have felt like the worst kind of betrayal to Levi, and just a crushing disappointment.
Of course, Erwin later is able to prove to Levi that his faith in him wasn’t misplaced, as he lives up to the ideal Levi saw in him to begin with, with Levi’s help and encouragement. But that’s a different post altogether! When I get to that part of the manga, I’ll be positing about it as well.
Also, Hange’s own sense of horrible guilt and remorse in these chapters, both over realizing she’d been experimenting on human’s this whole time, and over Nick’s death, was an amazing parallel to Levi’s. I think the two of them share so many similar feelings and such a similar depth of feeling over everything. Always trying to do the right thing, and struggling so much with whether the choices they make are the right choices, or whether any of this is worth the sacrifices they’re forced to make.
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‘The One’ - Mat Barzal (Part Two)
It’s finally here! Sorry it took me so long to write it, uni is killing me. Like and reblogs are always appreciated!
Hope you like it!
PS: I didn’t proofread it so almost sure there are some errors sorry!
Part 1
Masterlist
Word count: 4.1k
Warnings: implicit mention of sex (?)
-
Tonight was Mat’s night, he was scoring goal after goal and he knew the reason. Every time he had the puke he advanced with one thing in mind: you. Knowing that he could look up and find you there in your old spot between the wags, smiling and cheering for him was all the fuel he needed to play what was probably his best game of the season so far.
You had missed it so much. The mere feeling of being there surrounded by everyone, the atmosphere of the place, it was electrifying. However what you had missed the most definitely was the way his head would instinctively shoot up after each goal, each assistance; his eyes meeting with yours and being able to express to him how proud and happy you were with just one look.
Before you knew it the game was over, the boys rushed to the locker room and you stayed with the girls waiting for them. That’s when the nerves started kicking in. There was only one thing left for the night and you still weren’t sure what to expect.
Ever since your encounter earlier that week you haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Nevertheless no matter how much you thought about it you never seem to find an answer to all your doubts. You were still clueless as to how the night could turn out. Were you going to get back together? Or just talk until you came to the conclusion that there was no solution?
Part of you wanted everything to go back to how it was a year ago, get back together and forget you even thought you could live without each other. But another part, the more rational one, kept reminding you that even a year later you still had the same problems you did then, nothing had or could change really. So was it worth trying again just to stumble over the same stone and having to go over the same painful process of walking away from him?
Your thoughts were interrupted when the locker room opened and Mat was the first out.
“Hey superstar!” You walked up to him. His face lit up when he saw you there. This was surely another thing he had missed, having you there to celebrate the triumphs and comfort him after the defeats. He didn’t hesitate and pulled you into his chest, arms holding you tight against him. His smile only grew when he felt you hug him back.
“That was amazing. Really. I haven’t seen you play like that since…” you started to say as you pulled away but words died in your mouth when you realized where the sentence was going.
“I know.” he replied.
“What about me? Wasn't I amazing?” a familiar voice added from behind you and soon you felt an arm around your shoulders.
"Yes you were amazing as well Tito" you said turning to the blonde next to you.
"Thank you." he said before tightening his grip on you, giving you a side hug. Mat observed the interaction happily, trying to hide the grin on his face. "Come on, first round is on me."
"Not today man." Mat mumbled between his teeth, brows raising trying to signal to his best friend this was not the moment. It took Tito second to realize where he was screwing up. Once he did he mouthed a ‘sorry’ to his friend, lips pursed into an awkward grin.
"We can go if you want. I don't mind-" you started to say but he was quick to cut you off.
"I don't want to." he stopped you, sounding a bit rough. You looked at him confused, you knew Mat loved celebrating with the guys after a win, especially after a big one like the one they had today.
"I mean I obviously enjoy going to celebrate after a win, but tonight all I want is to be just us and, you know, talk." he clarified after seeing the muddled look on your face, reassuring you he was okay with missing out tonight, he had something way more important to do.
"Ok.” you agreed with him, knowing that there was a certain conversation that needed to happen. “Let me say goodbye to the rest and then we can go." you told him before turning around and walking away.
He watched you as you hugged his teammates and their partners, loving how you just fitted between them, like you were always meant to be part of this group that had become his chosen family. It was clear to him that you were what was missing from his life, he already knew it but seeing you back in it only confirmed it. In that moment he understood he was willing to do anything to have you back.
"Sorry man I forgot." Tito brought him back to reality. He just titled his neck brushing it off. "So how are you? Nervous?"
"Very." he replied as he kept on shifting his weight from side to side.
"What do you think she'll say?"
"I honestly don't know. I just hope she takes me back. If she says no I-I don't know-" He started getting anxious at the mere thought of you rejecting him. Tito could perceive this and tried to calm him down.
"She's gonna say yes Mat. You two are meant to be, known it since the day you presented her to us."
"I really hope you're right." he replied but you were back before he could start spiraling again.
"Ready?" he asked as you stood next to him. You nodded and went to give Tito a final hug.
“Listen to him. Please.” he murmured into your ear, low enough so Mat wouldn’t hear him. Your heart shrinked, it sounded almost like a pleade.
"Goodbye Beau.” You pulled away with a smile. “Take a shot for me."
"Oh I will."
With that you both turned around and started making your way to the parking lot side to side. Your left hand accidentally brushed his right one and it sent a shock down your spine. Mat obviously noticed your reaction which made you look away, embarrassed of how much effect he still had on you with such little things. You were surprised when you felt his hand slowly slip into yours.
He knew he was taking a risk, not sure what your response would be. However you didn’t pull away, you even gave his hand a slight squeeze. He beamed down at you and a guilty feeling started growing on you. Maybe you shouldn’t have done that. You didn’t want to give him false hopes, especially when you still didn’t know how you wanted the night to go.
-
It was going to be a simple night, no fancy outing or anything, just dinner at his place and then eventually the so equally dreaded and anticipated talk.
Once you were at his place you were surprised to see everything was pretty much the same. Everything was exactly where it used to be, even the portraits with pictures of the two of you and the small basket with blankets he had bought after you had told him how cold his apartment would get some nights. He never understood that until one night, meryl days after your break up when he found himself alone watching the tv unable to sleep shivering, and the only comfort he could get were those blankets. But not necessarily because they kept him warm, only because they still had your essence.
“I obviously didn’t cook.” he informed you as he placed his bag near the door and made his way to the kitchen.
“Obviously.” you teased following him closely.
“We can order whatever you want and .. I bought this” He turned around with a bottle of your favourite wine in his hands. You smiled at the sweet gesture, he still remembered.
As he turned back to grab the corkscrew and open the bottle, you went to the cupboards to grab two glasses. Then passed them to him and took a seat on the counter next to him as he poured the drink. He gave you one glass and proceeded to lean against the kitchen island in front of you.
The whole scene felt so familiar, it had happened countless times when you were together, casual evenings drinking wine in his kitchen as you told him about your day or talked about his last game.
He watched you take a sip of your glass as your eyes wandered through the kitchen and a thought sneaked into his mind, a dirty one. It wasn’t exactly a thought, it was more of a memory. His cheeks went red and he tried pushing it away but he couldn’t.
“Do you remember…” he started to say, not sure if he should bring it up or not.
“Ander’s birthday last year?” you finished his sentence. The same thought had taken over your mind the second you sat on the counter and rested your head against the cupboard.
“Yes!” he let out with a chuckle, letting his head fall back with relief.
“We were wasted.” you pointed out as you remembered that night.
You had both drank a little too much at Anders birthday and after somehow making it back home in one piece you didn’t make it past the kitchen. Your breath hitched as you recalled his strong arms lifting you and placing you on the counter, your hands tangled in his hair, his lips on your neck, your legs around his waist.
“Still some of the best sex I’ve ever had tho.” he pointed out.
“Oh for sure. I still have a small scar in the back of my head as proof.” you added causing both of you to crack up. At some point that night you had hit yourself with the cupboard behind you, but you were so drunk you only realized the morning after.
“We had some good times, didn’t we?” you said reminiscently once the laughter had died.
“We can still have more.” he corrected you.
“Mat...” The gloomy tone on your voice warned him.
“Let’s wait until after dinner to talk about everything, ok?” he suggested and you nodded, not wanting to ruin the nice moment you were just having. There would be time later to have that serious conversation, even if you didn’t want that time to come. He could tell how you were starting to drift away in your thoughts, certainly not good ones, so he rapidly changed the topic. “What do you want to eat then?”
“Maybe pizza? I’m not in a fancy mood.”
“Pizza it is.”
The pizza arrived in a matter of minutes, you insisted on paying since he had bought the wine, and he had to hold back the casual comment of how he’d be paying the next time, because he didn’t know if there would be a next one but he did know pushing you would only lower his chances of ending the night on a good note.
You decided to move the dinner to the living room where you’d be more comfortable. Both of you sat on the large couch, glass of wine in one hand slice of pizza in the other.
-
An hour later the pizza was long gone, so was the wine. You had talked about practically every topic, both of you too scared to touch the one you were there to talk about in the first place.
The room went silent and you knew it was time.
“So …”
“It’s time, isn’t it?” He placed down his glass on the small table, getting ready for what was about to come.
“Didn’t you want to have this conversation?” you chirped him up a little to take the tension off.
“I did- I do! Doesn’t change the fact I’m nervous as hell.” He ran his hand through his hair, something he’d do when he was on edge.
“Don’t be, it's same old me Mat.” you told him trying to calm him down, but also trying to calm yourself, reminding you it was Mat after all. No matter how things turned out tonight, it was Mat, nothing bad could happen.
He took a deep breath, mentally going over everything he needed to say. He had even practiced it with Tito, something his best friend would tease him about for the rest of their lives. He wanted to have the right words to express how he felt, scared one wrong move could blow his last chance with you.
“I missed you so much Y/N. I still can't believe I ever let you go. I replay that night in my head over and over again and I don’t understand how I just let you leave. We were having a fight because I was gone all the time and when I wasn’t gone you were working, and I was mad because there was nothing I could do about it and you were mad too. I don’t even remember who proposed it-”
“It was me. I was the one who said maybe breaking up was the better option.” you cut him off. Flashbacks of that night started rushing to your head as he spoke and you certainly remembered things differently.
“It wasn’t just a fight Mat, it was the same fight over and over again. I know that sometimes we forget about the bad things and just keep the nice memories, that’s what we were doing days ago in the coffee, but the bad moments still existed Mat, it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. Towards the end we’d fight almost weekly and it was always the same, we fought until we were exhausted and then we’d just push it away and pretend everything was fine because we both knew there was no solution for our problems.”
You told yourself you’d have an open mind, not discard the idea of getting back together immediately because you knew part of you wanted that. Nevertheless ignoring the problem you had would not solve anything. You needed Mat to accept things weren’t good, recognize you had problems. If not things were destined to fail once again.
“I know. I know we had problems, I remember the fights, but we can learn from them. It doesn’t have to be like that this time.” he was quick to add. It sounded childish but he had thought of good comebacks, almost as if he was preparing for an exam, the hardest and most important of his life.
However you had good arguments too. You wanted to believe him, you wanted to believe this time would be different but how could it be if everything was still the same?
"Nothing has changed Mat. You still have to travel and train and even if you could somehow spend less time away it would be selfish from me to ask you to. It's your dream Mat I'm not gonna do that. Plus I'm putting my job first too so it would be hypocritical of me to ask you not to do the same."
He knew what you were doing, he knew you too well not to. You were closing the door before it was even open because you were scared. Still he understood why it was like that, you were right up to a certain point, but he wasn't about to give up, not when he finally had the chance to say everything he had been wanting to ever since that horrible night.
“You’re just thinking about the bad things. Remember all the good times we had Y/N, don’t you think it’s worth it? Because I sure think it is.”
In a leap of faith he scooted closer to you and grabbed your hands that were resting in your laps. He needed the contact, he needed you to feel how honest he was being, how much he wanted this.
“We still have it, I know we do, I felt it in the coffee shop days ago, tonight at the game, on the drive here, as we were having dinner. I know we have it, I know we can make it.”
That all too familiar knot started forming in your throat and your vision went blurry with tears that threatened to fall any second. He was tearing down your barrier, but behind it all you could show were the wounds from the past.
"I don't want to go through it again Mat. It hurt-” you started to say but your voice broke mid sentence, you couldn't hold it anymore. “The fighting, the impotence, the break up, trying to move on. It all hurt too much I can't do all of that again." you cried out, too busy feeling all the emotions you had bottled up to feel embarrassed for the scene you were causing.
Mat was heartbrokened. He hated that he was the reason for those tears rolling down your cheeks. For a moment he considered giving up, he couldn't see you like that anymore, he couldn't bear the thought of him being what caused you so much hurt.
But he didn't. ‘One last time’ he told himself. One last time and if you said no then he’d accept it. It would kill him yes, but he would accept it because you were all that mattered to him and if letting you go was the right thing for you he'd do it. He'd do anything for you.
With that in mind, knowing it would be his last attempt, he started getting anxious. He could feel you slowly slipping away from him. Nerves got the worst of him, it was evident when he started talking again.
"But we don't have to. We won't Y/N. You're it for me, I promise if we try again I won't let you go this time. Well I mean you can break up with me if we get back together obviously, I won't force you or anything- what I mean is I won't break up with you- Not that I ever wanted! But I-" he started stumbling on his words and you couldn't help but giggle. He felt pathetic but at least he was able to make you somehow feel better throughout the tears, that was a bit gratifying.
However he still needed to get it together, so he took a final deep breath trying to gather his thoughts. Already knowing what his next words were going to be he moved closer and gently placed a hand on your face, making sure you were looking at him when he said it because he needed you to see how much he meant it.
"I love you Y/N. I still do and I dont think I'll ever stop loving you.” Your eyes went wide at his words, deep down you knew it, but hearing it was different. You never thought you'd hear those words from Mat’s lips again, yet he was right in front of you saying it, looking at you with all the love in the world, and something started building inside of you.
“These past few months showed me what a life without you is like and I don't ever want to go through that again.” he continued, now more confident after seeing your reaction. “I want to wake up next to you. I want you to tell me about what weird dream you had while I make us breakfast. I want to pick you up from work every afternoon. I want you to wear my jersey and take you to all my games. I want silly fights about which movie we should watch. I want to come home to find you asleep on the couch and pick you up and tug you to sleep. I want to show you off to everyone. I want to make up after every fight. I want to start and end every single day with you. I want to get married and have kids and grow old.”
With every sentence your smile only grew bigger, you tried to contain it but you couldn’t hide it anymore. Mat noticed this and got so excited he kept on going to the point he even forgot where he was going so he took a pause before finishing his confession.
“What I’m trying to say is: I love you Y/N. I love you so much and I know we can make it work. Please give us a second chance”
You looked at his eyes one final time. They were full of hope, something you lacked but you were sure he had enough for both of you. All the reasons why this wasn’t going to work didn’t matter anymore, not when you had the love of your life in front of you telling you he still loved you, fighting for you, reassuring you you’d make it this time. You couldn’t say no to him, most importantly you didn’t want to. You wanted him as much as he did, you missed him as much as he did and you loved him as much as he loved you.
You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his, needing the extra touch as encouragement to say something you’d been holding in for too long.
“I love you.” you whispered, lips less than an inch apart from his, noses touching. Your eyes were closed but you could feel his smile. He let out a deep breath, the weight he had been carrying for so long finally being lifted off his shoulders. He couldn’t count how many nights he dreamed of you saying those words to him, it was surreal.
“I love you” he replied before shortening the distance between your lips and finally kissing you.
It was all he had imagined and more. He already knew your lips, but this time it was different, his heart fluttered the second your his lips were on yours.
It started as a gentle kiss. You’d smile against each other, giggles escaping from both of you because you couldn’t contain your happiness. Whispering ‘I love you’s between kisses. It was a mess of a kiss, but a beautiful one.
Then your hands sneaked to the back of his neck, pulling him closer till there was no space between your bodies. You leaned back on the couch with Mat on top of you. It was slow and soft, bodies melting into each other. One of his hands stayed on your face, thumb caressing your cheek, while the other went to your waist. Your hands started roaming over his body; his neck, his shoulder, his back, his hair. He yearned for your touch.
It soon turned into an openmouthed kiss, almost sexual. It was fiery, full of passion, almost like your bodies missed each other for so long and now that they were back together you couldn’t pull away, but you also didn’t want to. At some point he turned you around, making you lay on top of him. Now his hands were the ones wandering over your body.
The kiss was long and it only ended when you had run out of breath, if not it could have gone on forever.
“I missed that.” he breathed out, unable to breath. Your forehead still gently placed against his.
“Me too.” you replied with a hoarse voice trying to catch your breath.
“I missed you.” he added, accentuating the ‘you’. You lift your head to look at him.
“I miss you too Mat.” you murmured placing a final kiss on his lips before nestling in his chest. He hummed in content, leaving one hand in your lowback and the other going to tenderly stroke your hair.
“I honestly was expecting you to try and extort me with a puppy.” you said out of the blue making him laugh, feeling his chest vibrate against your cheek with every laugh.
“Oh Tito suggested it and I thought about it, but you’re too smart, wouldn’t have fallen for it.”
“I don’t know, maybe it would have saved us all this trouble.” you joked, placing your chin on his chest to see his face.
“Excuse me?” He looked down at you with furrowed brows and an offended expression. “I just opened my heart for you and you call it ‘trouble’?” You were the one laughing now and he soon joined.
“God I missed this.” he said, pressing you impossibly closer to his body.
“I love you.” you told him once again, stretching your neck to place a kiss under his jaw. He’d never get tired of hearing those words coming from you.
“I love you too.” he replied, placing one on the top of your head.
With your heart beating against his, for the first time in months, he felt at home. That piece that had been missing was finally back, he was complet.
#mat barzal#mat barzal imagine#mathew barzal#mat barzal x reader#mathew barzal x reader#new york islanders#new york islanders imagine#islanders#isles#islanders imagine#isles imagine#hockey#hockey imagine#nhl#nhl imagine#matarzal smut#mat barzal one shot#hockey fic#nhl fic#nhl fanfiction#hockey fanfiction#nhl one shot#hockey one shot#mathew barzal iamgine#mathew barzal one shot#mathew barzal imagine
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Remus Lupin is very young when he joins the Order of the Phoenix to fight in the war. Young, but not naive. He knows that war isn't an exciting adventure with heroic battles, but pain, loss and grief. He has known this ever since his boyfriend was killed by Death Eaters when he was just seventeen years old. It only makes him more determined to fight.
And maybe the things we lose really do have a way of coming back to us in the end.
Wolfstar angst, but with a sappy, happy ending!
Moody doesn’t look up from his paper, and answers in the most casual manner. “Do you remember Sirius Black?”
Do you remember Sirius Black. Remus has only ever talked about it with James, as James understood. Not the black hole that Remus’ future had become, but at least the loss, grief and guilt. Apart from that, and some worried enquiries from professor McGonagall from time to time, his friends have been extremely careful not to even mention his name around Remus. Remus had always thought that was rather exaggerated and unnecessary, but now, hearing his name so suddenly, so casually mentioned, he thinks they may have had a point after all. He feels like he’s been punched in the gut.
Always meant to come back
The young man, almost a boy really, barely twenty years old, blinks his eyes open. He squints against the bright light in the room, and tries to sit up, but winches in pain and falls back on the bed.
“Don’t strain yourself,” Alastor warns. “We’ve had a Healer patch you up as good as possible, but your body has taken quite a hit, with all those hexes and curses thrown at you.”
“What...” the young man begins to ask.
“You’ll be fine,” Alastor ensures him. “You’re just going to have to take a lot of rest, at least until your wounds have healed. Especially the cuts on your back, probably from a Lashing Hex, may be dangerous if they’ll start bleeding again.”
The young man looks at him for a moment, pale, weary-eyed, with a deep cut on his cheek. “You’re not a Death Eater,” he states.
Alastor laughs shortly. “No, rather the opposite I’d say.”
The young man just looks at him questioningly.
“I’m an Auror,” Alastor clarifies. “Head of the Auror’s office at the Ministry.”
“That can’t be.” The young man shakes his head. “That would mean...”
“You’re safe,” Alastor says.
The young man lets his head fall back on the pillow and closes his eyes, releasing a shaky breath.
After a short silence, Alastor finally asks the question that’s been at the forefront of his mind ever since finding the young man. “You’re Sirius Black, aren’t you?”
The young man opens his eyes again. “Yeah,” he replies.
“Everyone thinks you’ve been dead for at least two years.”
Alastor remembers the story. It was one of the first tragedies of the war. The disowned heir of the house of Black, only seventeen years old at the time, not even graduated from Hogwarts yet, murdered by a group of Death Eaters. The Black family was already high on the list of persons of interest, due to them advocating for blood supremacy and openly supporting He Who Must Not Be Named’s regime. Their eldest son, however, who had already been known as the first Black to not be sorted in Slytherin house, had fallen out with his family and hadn’t been living with them for over a year at the time of the murder. Or, well, alleged murder.
“Two years?” Sirius mumbles. “I don’t know whether it seems like yesterday that I was still living my old life, or whether being at school actually feels like a lifetime ago. Maybe both.”
“What I gathered from the story at the time,” Alastor continues. “Was that a group of students from Slytherin house had purposely leaked information to you that your younger brother was to be sworn in as a Death Eater, and without properly thinking it through, you left to try and stop him and get him away from that evil alignment.”
“I did,” Sirius simply replies.
“That was an idiotic plan,” Alastor says. “Going on your own to a place you knew would be infested with Death Eaters, to save someone you didn’t even know wanted to be saved.”
Sirius huffs a laugh. “You sound just like Moony when he was telling me not to go.”
Alastor doesn’t know what a Moony is, so he just continues. “You never came back. They caught you, or maybe it had all been a trap to begin with, as the Slytherins who spilled the information later all became Death Eaters, and maybe some of them had even already joined at the time. Either way, the word spread that you had been killed by the Death Eaters.”
Hogwarts had been in shock, Alastor remembers. Not only did the death of a schoolmate make the war suddenly seem so much more real, Sirius Black had been bright, promising, loved. It had been a blow to almost the entire school to lose him.
“That’s what happened. Well,” Sirius gestures vaguely at himself. “Except for the being killed part, obviously.”
“Why didn’t they kill you?”
“My irresistible charm?” Sirius attempts with a weak smile. “No,” he then sighs with a pained look in his eyes. “It was my little brother. He said he’d only join their cause if they agreed to let me live. Most of the Death Eaters just wanted to kill us both then, not deeming him very important anyway, but my parents didn’t have a second spare heir ready, so they couldn’t afford to lose another son. They convinced them to imprison me instead of kill me.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s the only time the power and influence of ‘The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black’ did me any good. Although I have often wished they had just killed me. Some of them ignored me, others liked to taunt me, and a few immensely enjoyed hurting me.”
Alastor feels a rare surge of empathy. It was a cruel fate indeed, to be locked up for so long under those conditions, and he had only been seventeen, barely more than a child.
“So how did I end up here?” Sirius asks.
“We placed a Tracing Charm on Goyle, and noticed he was regularly visiting a manor in the countryside, on paper owned by the Rosier family. This made us believe it to be an enemy headquarters, so we planned a raid. We disconnected the house from the Floo Network and placed an anti-apparition charm over the whole premises, before we invaded the place. Unfortunately, the ones present were in possession of illegal Portkeys, I still have to ask Mundungus Fletcher how they could’ve gotten those, and managed to get away. Upon searching the house, though, we found you locked in one of the rooms, severely injured and barely conscious.”
“Of the people I knew, is anyone... Do you know if anyone has been...?”
“I wouldn’t think so,” Alastor answers. “To my knowledge, no one from your year at Hogwarts has been killed. I don’t think that there’s anyone you may have known among the victims.”
Sirius lets out a relieved breath. “I didn’t think there was either, as the Death Eaters would have jumped at the opportunity to rub it in my face had they hurt someone I knew, but still.”
“Of course, I don’t know about your brother,” Alastor adds. “As he’s not on our side.”
A flash of pain shows on Sirius’ face for a brief moment, but he quickly composes himself. “I’m sure Regulus is okay,” he mumbles. “If he’d been gone, I would’ve been dead.”
“The Ministry is doing a shite job fighting this war!” Sirius throws down the Daily Prophet on his bed. “Half of the people in this photo is either a traitor or under the Imperius Curse!”
Alastor glances down at the paper. On the front page is an article about Barty Crouch, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and his plan to fight violence with violence and legalise the Unforgivable Curses. The article is accompanied by several photos: Barty Crouch and his family, some other high-placed Ministry officials such as Augustus Rockwood and Walden McNair, and the heads of the influential Mulciber and Malfoy families, who are often thought to influence, or bribe, the Ministry.
Sirius is getting better, and he’s already proven his worth by passing all the valuable information he managed to pick up during his imprisonment on to Alastor.
“And the measures that they’ve been taking are hardly going to be sufficient to win this war,” Sirius adds.
“Well,” Alastor replies calmly. “Considering how corrupt the Ministry is, it’s a good thing they’re not taking more measures.”
“How can you care so little? You’re part of the Ministry, and forced to fight a losing battle.”
“That would be concerning indeed, if it was really the Ministry fighting this battle.”
Sirius raises an eyebrow, prompting Alastor to continue.
“There’s another group that forms the real opposition to He Who Must Not Be Named. A secret order of witches and wizards personally recruited by Dumbledore himself, fighting the Death Eaters behind the scenes.”
“I want to join,” Sirius immediately says.
“What you’ve been true is enough to traumatize someone for a lifetime,” Alastor says. “Are you sure you want to engage yourself even further with this war?”
“Bollocks,” Sirius replies. “I still have great magical skills and abilities, I was the best dueller at Hogwarts and I know better than anyone how these Death Eaters think and operate. You need me. You want me. You don’t give a crap about my emotional state, or you wouldn’t even have mentioned it.”
Alastor supresses a smile. Sirius is right. Alastor is eager to get him on board, but he felt like he had to at least symbolically offer him a way out, never expecting Sirius to actually take it. Truth is, his only goal is to win this war, by whatever means possible, and he doesn’t have it in him to care about an individual’s mental health.
“Very well then. Come to think of it, you might even see some familiar faces.”
“Lily, you look so...”
“Remus Lupin, if your next sentence contains the word ‘big’ or ‘huge’, then in Merlin’s name, I will hex you.”
“Eh... radiant?”
A very pregnant Lily rolls her eyes as she sits on the couch across from Remus. “I’m a bloody whale, I’m completely bloated and I feel like I’m just peeing all day.”
“Isn’t she just glowing?” James appears at Remus’ side, staring at Lily like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, which she probably is.
Remus chuckles. “You’re a very lucky man, Prongs.”
James sits down next to his wife, and Peter sits down next to Remus, while they all wait for the Order meeting to begin. The Prewetts arrive shortly after, and Marlene and Dorcas rush over to Lily to ask her a thousand questions on how she’s feeling. James just stares with an adoring, fond look, while Lily describes in detail how all her bodily functions have changed now she’s so very pregnant.
“Ah, to be young and in love,” Peter says.
Remus tries not to show any change in expression, but he can’t help his smile slightly faltering.
Unfortunately, Peter notices. “I mean, of course you know... I didn’t mean to...”
“It’s fine,” Remus says curtly. “Don’t worry about it.” His time of being young and in love is over. Yet, he doesn’t resent James for his happiness, just because his was taken away from him. After all, he knows that for James as well, not a day goes by on which he doesn’t miss him.
Professor McGonagall walks over to Lily to ask her about her due date, and Lily happily informs her that the baby is expected to be born this summer.
“From this September on, you’ll have eleven more years to prepare for Gryffindor’s next trouble maker!” James says.
“James Potter,” Lily scolds. “We agreed to not pressure this child about which house he should sorted into. That already goes into effect before he’s born.”
“Honestly professor,” James whispers too loud to professor McGonagall. “I already love this kid so bloody much. I wouldn’t even mind if he’ll end up in Slytherin!”
McGonagall chuckles. “You know, James, you really don’t have to call me professor anymore.”
James looks absolutely horrified at the idea.
Remus is glad they still see professor McGonagall so often. He doesn’t think he would’ve been able to make it through his last year at Hogwarts without her.
He’s always happy to see her, even though each time it reminds him of that one conversation. At first, he had been angry at him that he had gone anyway, and angry at himself for not realizing that of course he’d go anyway. Then, there had only been the anxious waiting for him to come back, until McGonagall had called Remus, James and Peter into her office and with more distress than he had ever seen her in, told them that he was not going to come back.
James had immediately started crying. Heart-wrenching sobs that went through the bone for the loss of his closest companion, his best friend, his brother. Remus had felt... nothing. It was like he heard the words, understood what the words meant, but did not comprehend what the words implied.
He hadn’t just lost someone he could talk to, someone he could trust, someone he could hold on to. He had lost a small home somewhere on the countryside just outside of London, with large fireplace in the living room and a small shed outside for the motorcycle. He had lost a large garden with an aviary for the owls and enough space for the dogs to run around. He had lost taking time off from working as a teacher and a Healer to spend a few weeks by the coast each summer. He had lost summer evenings in the garden, inviting friends over for a barbecue, a small Quidditch field in the backyard, little children running around. He had lost a future he never thought he could actually have, but had set his heart on anyway.
It took a week. A week of feeling nothing. A week of seeing the worried stares and hearing the constant whispers from his schoolmates. A week before the pain and grief hit him at full force.
He’s pulled from his thoughts by Marlene’s voice. “Remember, when Moody gets here, don’t mention the Rosier manor-raid.”
Peter rolls his eyes. “Yes, McKinnon. I don’t have a death wish.”
Remus shakes his head. “I can’t even imagine how pissed he must be about it. All that planning, just for each and every Death Eater to get away.”
“He’s gonna be livid,” Marlene agrees. “This is not gonna be a happy meeting.”
“I was so disappointed when I heard it,” Lily sighs. “It felt like we finally had something on them, and now we have to start all over.”
Remus wonders what kind of missions they’re going to assign people to this time. Lily has scolded him before for always volunteering for the most dangerous ones, but to Remus it seems perfectly logical. If he goes, his friends don’t have to go, and he has the least to live for anyway. He said as much one time. James had cried and Lily had yelled at him, so he doesn’t say it anymore. At least not out loud.
It isn’t long before Moody enters the room, looking as battered and grizzled as ever, and commands the meeting to begin. Everyone immediately gathers around the table, as no one, except Dumbledore and McGonagall when it’s absolutely necessary, dares to oppose Alastor Moody.
“Right. We have much to discuss,” Moody says in his growling voice. “First point of order, I’ve gotten confirmation regarding our suspicions about Mulciber, and we should from now on assume that each person working in his vicinity is under the influence of the Imperius Curse and cannot be trusted. Moreover, I received intelligence that Augustus Rockwood, Walden McNair and Barty Crouch Jr. are traitors.”
Everyone sucks in a breath of surprise and disbelief.
“Mr. Crouch’s own son?” McGonagall asks. “An accusation like that can put us in a lot of trouble. Where did you get this kind of intelligence, Alastor?”
“I obtained it from the Rosier manor-raid,” Moody replies, and another wave of surprise goes around the table. No one had expected Moody to bring up the failed attempt himself.
Remus frowns. He has never underestimated the enemy and he knows the Death Eaters aren’t stupid enough to leave a list of names of everyone who’s secretly a traitor. And if they did, it can only be a trap, but Moody must know that better than anyone.
“How?” McGonagall asks, apparently on the same train of thought.
Moody doesn’t look up from his paper, and answers in the most casual manner. “Do you remember Sirius Black?”
Do you remember Sirius Black? Do you remember Sirius Black? Do you remember Sirius Black. Remus has only ever talked about it with James, as James understood. Not the black hole that Remus’ future had become, but at least the loss, grief and guilt. Apart from that, and some worried enquiries from professor McGonagall from time to time, his friends have been extremely careful not to even mention his name around Remus. Remus had always thought that was rather exaggerated and unnecessary, but now, hearing his name so suddenly, so casually mentioned, he thinks they may have had a point after all. He feels like he’s been punched in the gut.
James has gotten pale as a sheet and Lily has automatically grabbed his hand, while Peter is throwing worried glances in Remus’ direction. Professor McGonagall has her lips pressed tightly together, and is looking at Moody with a look that clearly says ‘you better have a very good reason for this’.
Moody, completely oblivious to the sudden tension in the room, just keeps talking. If his previous words had been shocking, it’s nothing compared to the effect his next words produce. “You must have heard of it, I believe some of you were at Hogwarts when the whole ordeal took place. As it turns out, he was actually held captive by the Death Eaters. We found him locked up in the Rosier manor in quite a state, but we managed to patch him up, and he was able to give us quite some valuable information.”
Remus hears the words, but can’t process their meaning. He just stares, waiting for Moody to say ‘just kidding’ or wake up from this dream. Nothing happens for a long moment, until Marlene breaks the silence. “But everyone gave the same account... They all said... How?”
Moody makes a dismissive gesture. “There was some family drama involved I believe. But he can tell you himself in due time. He has agreed to join the Order, actually.”
“You’re lying.” Moody finally looks up at hearing James’ angry tone. “I don’t believe you. You’re lying.”
“Calm down, Potter,” Moody replies. “We can talk about it after the meeting, if we must.”
Remus only realises he has stood up when he notices everyone looking at him. He gives Moody a steely look. “Let me see him.”
“Lupin, we’re in the middle of a meeting. We still have much to discuss.”
“I don’t give a fuck about your damned meeting!” Remus shouts. “Let. Me. See. Him.”
Moody regards him for a moment, and then nods.
Maybe Moody is tricking them as a test. Maybe Moody is delusional and there’s no one there. Maybe someone has tricked Moody and is leading them into a trap. Maybe Moody is under the influence of the Imperius Curse himself and is leading them into a trap. Remus goes over every option in is head as he, James and Lily use the Floo network to go Moody’s safe house. Every option except one. The one he doesn’t allow himself to even think of.
He realises that many option would put them in immediate danger, but he only cares for James and Lily’s sake. If this really is a cruel trick, it’d almost be a relief to be killed right after. Even without allowing himself to hope, he couldn’t handle the disappointment.
But they step into the room, and there he is.
In the living room, fast asleep on the couch, covered by a thin blanket. One hand dangling over the edge of the couch, the other on his stomach, his chest softly going up and down in time with his breathing.
He’s less muscular and a lot thinner than before. His face looks very pale in sharp contrast with his dark, now very long, hair, with a healing cut on his cheek and a receding bruise under his eye.
But it’s him, unmistakably him.
Odd enough, the first thought that occurs to Remus is that he has always wanted Sirius to grow his hair out and that he hopes he doesn’t cut it too soon. At this moment, he seems unable to form any other coherent thought.
Suddenly, he feels James’ hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him forward. “Go to him.”
Remus stumbles forward. He falls down on his knees next to the couch in front of Sirius’ face. He reaches out a trembling hand and touches Sirius’ cheek.
Sirius’ eyes, those eyes nothing can compare to, fly open. Startled, Sirius sits up with a bewildered look. He first sees James and Lily standing there, looking at him.
“Prongs? Evans?”
Then he turns his head towards Remus, and his eyes, filled with emotion, widen.
“Moony?” His voice slightly breaks.
“Hi,” Remus whispers.
Sirius reaches out and gently strokes his thumb over Remus’ cheek. Remus only now realises that there are tears streaming down his face. They stare at each other for a breathless moment. Then, at the same time, they move and wrap each other in an impossibly tight embrace, both whispering unnecessary apologies, as neither thinks there’s anything to forgive the other for.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a stubborn arse, I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t even say goodbye. I’m sorry I didn’t come back. I meant to come back. I always meant to come back.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t come and get you. I’m sorry I never came to bring you home. I gave up on you, and I’m so, so sorry.”
Eventually, James can’t hold back anymore and he flies forward to embrace is brother, and upon seeing him desperately crying, Sirius starts to cry as well.
When he’s more composed, James starts asking Sirius a hundred questions to check if it’s really him. Sirius effectively shuts him up by informing Lily that James stole one of her T-shirts in fifth year and slept with it in his bed for two years.
“I hate you so much, Padfoot! And I missed you more than you’ll ever know, and don’t you ever leave me again!”
This exchange is followed by Sirius going on for ten minutes: “Evans, you’re pregnant. You’re pregnant with a child. Prongs’ child. Evans, you’re pregnant with Prongs’ child. You’re having a baby. Prongs is having a baby. You and Prongs are having a baby. Together. You let Prongs get you pregnant.”
All the while, Remus is still sitting on the ground next to him, their hands firmly clasped together.
Eventually, they have to go back to the Order meeting, and of course want to inform the others. Peter will be ecstatic and professor McGonagall might cry. Lily kisses Sirius on his cheek and James hugs him again, after letting him promise five times that he’ll still be there tomorrow and he’s not going to disappear again.
“You know, Moony, if you want to go to the Order meeting, you’ll have to let go of my hand,” Sirius says with a small smile, without making any attempt of releasing his grip himself.
Remus smiles back. “No, I’m never letting you go again.”
#my tumblr writing#wolfstar#wolfstar fanfiction#wolfstar fic#marauders#marauders fanfiction#marauders fic#sirius black#remus lupin#remus x sirius#james potter#lily evans#jily#alastor moody#first wizarding war#hurt sirius black#james potter is a good friend#wolfstar angst
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I’m so sorry this took so long! I’ve been so swamped with my work and figuring out how each individual brother would react in the situation :( A bit of warning though, I’m still not quite familiar with Belphie’s character, I had to work with what little I knew of him by reading through every Belphie stan rant about him, the text messages/phone calls that we get from him and the Obey Me wikia page so I’m really sorry if I destroyed his character here >.< !!! But all of that aside, I hope that this is still enjoyable and readable to all of you :)
And of course, a massive thank you to @dawndustleo for the request!!
Big brothers’ reactions here!
Part 2 of How the Brothers React to Accidentally Falling in Love with a Devout Muslim MC (Little Brothers)
Satan
Ah, yes. Our resident academic
Satan did not like our cute lil MC when he first met them (and they him) and these two were wary of each other
Honestly, the only reason these two would even become friends in the first place is because of MC tbh
I doubt Satan would approach them willingly in the hopes of making friends. At most, he would only converse with them to add to his impressive list of connections or for his own personal gain (cough making Lucifer miserable cough)
The more he spends time with them though, Satan slowly unravels the layers that make MC the person that they are and he’d be shocked at the depth of character they present since he usually just thinks all religious people are numbskulls and mindless sheep anyway
But MC managed to surprise him by demonstrating a wisdom to them that he has yet to associate with any human. Sure, it may not be as profound as Kant’s or Nietzsche, but any questions regarding theology or morality that Satan would throw at them for fun (with the sadistic intent of watching them blunder in their answer) MC managed to answer it as honest as they could
To him, most people are predictable
Where most people would reply with a simple “i dunno”, MC did not and it was during these interrogations chatting sessions that Satan could truly admire the rawness of MC’s soul. Be it in the way they viewed the world or their thought process. Satan would be in complete awe of the world that they view through their lenses
Devout Muslims spend most of their life trying to live up to the example of their beloved Prophet Muhammad (may peace be unto him) and MC is no exception to this, their time in the Devildom would make it harder but they’d definitely hold on strong, especially with the angels there as well c:
So even if most of their answers would have something to do with God, the inherent longing and yearning in their voice would be enough to move even him
It’s this part of them that really started his infatuation with MC. They were so pure and virtuous that they were kind to even him, the sworn enemy of every believing Muslim in the world. They looked past his Wrath and understood him and his complexities that often, they would help Satan realise his own mysteries
Unlike the other brothers though, Satan was hyperconscious of MC’s choice in religion
So the second he realised he was in love with them, his sin consumes him and he would destroy anything within sight and cursing God’s name to, well, Hell
When he finally calms down, that’s when the heartache sets in for him ;(
Because even if MC reciprocates his feelings, their devotion to God would far, far outweigh their love for him and they would always choose Him over Satan
Asmodeus
Asmodeus’ idea of love had always been skewed since the minute he fell from Heaven
Maybe he did experience true love back when he was an angel, but that had been so long ago that he’d almost forgotten how it feels like
As the Avatar of Lust, Asmo’s love language is extremely physical. It doesn’t have to be inherently suggestive but even the more innocent touches like a simple hug or even hand holding could escalate into something risqué
It’s not like he intentionally sets it off too. It’s his sin!! He can’t help it if a friendly hug pitches a tent in his pants!!
Like Lucifer, Asmo would first pursue MC for less-than-pure gains
He revels in attention from anyone and anything, if that person shows the least bit of attention to him (especially sexually) he WILL feel genuinely offended, like he’s not good enough
And with MC’s piety and immunity from Asmo’s charm, he would absolutely see MC as nothing more than a goal, a forbidden fruit, or the highest win one can get in a lottery
He would amp up his seduction and sin to the max level that even his brothers had to leave the room because it was so overpowering it began to mess with their heads and I can see MC not being okay with that and this would upset them a lot
Lucifer will have to force Asmo to apologise to MC every time this happens (a lot) and though his apologies are sarcastic and obviously ingenuine, MC was always so forgiving and so kind, treating him more than just lust embodied. With their high resistance against his charms, Asmo knows that MC is genuine in their want to be his friend
And this would definitely cause his heart to palpitate and soar in happiness. Because for the first time, someone is interested in him, his person rather than his body, his looks or his status as one of the seven Demon Lords of the Devildom
The constant impure thoughts of what he wanted to do with MC once they finally fall under his charm slowly turned into wholesome ones, with him thinking of the best ways he can make them smile like that one time when he said something that was truly amusing to them
He still won’t realise this though because the change had been a slow and steady one. The only way he would realise that he is utterly besotted and head over heels for MC is when MC had accidentally tripped and fell into his arms...and he felt nothing. Well, other than genuine concern and worry of course
He would be so shocked by that fact and he would run to Satan to confirm what he already knew
When he finally comes to terms with it, he was ecstatic and a little nervous. It’s his first time loving someone other than himself and he was so, so excited to share this happy news to MC
Unfortunately, MC would be forced to turn him down as gently as they could, explaining the reasons why. I would imagine it would hurt for MC to do this because they would never ever want to cause him pain 🥺
Asmo would be so shocked. Because why in hell would you ever turn him down? Because he was so sure that MC reciprocated his feelings. They were always so kind to him, so warm and gentle. Had he misread the signs?
Asmo would give them a fake smile and assure them that it’s fine, that they were much better off as friends anyway even though MC didn’t look like they believed him
Asmo would act joyful as he usually did, but his brothers and MC knew that it was all an act, and while his brothers didn’t understand what’d happened (with the exception of Satan) it would absolutely crush them to see the most joyous of the brothers so dejected, even if he’d try his best to hide it
When MC left the Devildom, Lucifer will have to deal with the influxes of bills his little brother has accumulated from the copious amounts of alcohol he consumed trying to forget about them
Beelzebub
Unlike his older brothers, Beel fell in love with MC real quick
This demon is a big sweetheart and he treasures his family a lot, so I can definitely see him falling in love with a kind MC
Devout Muslim MC would always be on the lookout to help other people wherever they go and when they found Beel sad and hungry, they gave up their lunch for him
When they found out that Beel’s stomach is just practically a black hole, MC would take it upon themselves to learn how to cook all kinds of cuisines (if they couldn’t already) just so they could keep Beel fed and to make sure he doesn’t go around eating inedible stuff
“Beel! Don’t eat that, that is a plate. Come on honey, let me go prepare you a cheeseburger or a dozen, okay?”
Beel fell in love with them right then and there
With how his brothers have had to keep up with his everlasting hunger, they would definitely give up trying to feed him because one, it’s impossible to keep up with the Avatar of Gluttony’s appetite and two, they’re demons, they don’t do Good Samaritan deeds
In order to maintain their grades AND keep up with Beel’s black hole of a stomach, MC developed a little schedule that they taped above their desk and their bed, as well as digitalized a copy in their DDD to allocate their time wisely
When Beel found out about this, he paused. He paused, then gawked, then engulfed MC in a huge hug because no one has ever done anything like that for him and just knowing the extra lengths they went for him made his heart stutter
Mammon: What the hell, MC you made all of this for Beel?????
MC: You know what they say *putting a buffet of food in front of an awed Beel* The quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach *pats Beel’s tummy with a smile*
Beel: *dying from blushing*
From that point on, he started following them like a lost puppy. Of course, it didn’t hurt that they constantly have little snacks on them for him but it was more so because he wanted their company
MC is patient with him and constantly smiles at him which drives his heart crazy and whenever he returns to his shared bedroom with Belphie, he always had this big dopey smile on him as he talked to Belphie about his day with MC and what they did and what MC wore and how cute they were looking at the different plush toys on display at the mall-
Belphie loves his twin but for the love of hell, please just let him sleep
But when Beel told him that he planned to confess to them, all traces of drowsiness would disappear from Belphie and he would have to explain to Beel on why that would be a bad idea
Of course Belphie would do so gently, but there was a heavy hint of urgency and worry in Belphie’s tone that Beel couldn’t ignore
That was the night Belphie would hold Beel while he cried himself to sleep :(
Despite knowing that they weren’t meant to be, Beel would still hang around them even if their mere presence would cause his heart to seize. It wasn’t their fault and Beel would never hold something like this against them. It just isn’t in his nature
Even if MC reciprocated his feelings, he would never pursue anything more with them despite his heart jumping for joy because he knew it would deeply hurt his MC in the long run
It was precisely because of his love for MC that he would let them go, even if it pained him to do so
When MC left the Devildom, Beel tried his best to continue living his life as it were before but sometimes, he felt as though he might just let his hunger and heartbreak take over him 💔
Belphegor
Being the Avatar of Sloth, Belphie is well aware of the recurring nightmares MC has had since he first killed them. But even without his status as the lord of sleep, one could notice. It was that obvious
MC suffered trauma because of him and Belphie will carry that guilt with him to the end of his days
The first few weeks, MC is notably wary of him; preferring to stick with Mammon or Lucifer during group activities, leaving the room whenever he was there and coming up with excuses to leave on the spot whenever he would sit next to them during meals
It brought him and his brothers terrible sadness to see their human change from a bright little thing to a meek little animal, trembling down to their knees. It reminded them of when MC first came to the Devildom; lost and fearful
But eventually MC would finally start interacting with Belphie; you know, a simple hello and no immediate fleeing whenever he wanders into a room. Baby steps, y’know? They would still cling to Lucifer or Mammon though
He would be so confused about it
Like, hello? I am your murderer?? Why are you trying to befriend me???
Like, this man really thought that they were going to spend the entirety of the exchange program just ignoring him. Not that he would blame them
But MC was so determined on moving past that and the least he could do was humour them
He would make sure that they were comfortable every time they interacted; which meant no sudden moves, no being an asshole to them, speaking politely to them and just giving them space in general
It won’t take long for MC to fully be comfortable around him again and trust him enough to form a pact with him
Now that MC is able to relax around him, MC and Belphie would be frequently hanging out with each other due in large part to Beelzebub who is just really, REALLY glad that his two favourite people finally like each other now 🥺🥺
In time, they would be able to trust each other enough to reveal the deepest parts of themselves to each other and the first time it happened, Belphie cried and MC...to his surprise, was not a stifling presence
They were silent as they listened to him speak, their attention rapt on him as he bared his soul to them and their presence was warm and comforting as he cried, with no judgment of any sort to be found
That was when he would truly start to fall in love with them and though he realised that MC would probably reject his advances if he were to pursue anything more with them, it didn’t stop him from trying at all
He found a good human not just for himself, but also for Beel and the rest of his brothers, he wasn’t going to let them go that easily
He finally understood why his little sister sacrificed all that she was to be with her human lover and he really thought that their circumstances were similar (spoiler alert it’s not)
His love for MC was absolutely genuine, which would make this all the more terrifying because he would truly believe that what he was doing was the best thing for them
Belphie is cunning and highly manipulative, he would most definitely attempt to skew MC’s devotion to God and attempt to convince her that the Devildom has much better things to offer than the Celestial Realm
He would try his absolute hardest to get them to stay with him in their realm
“Oh, speaking of God, back when I was an angel, did you know this one time He tried to...” “Do you have to pray now? You could always do it later, you know. I mean, He is Ar-Rahim, the Most Merciful right? He’ll understand”
Devout or not, he will break through their strong will and convince MC to leave their religious path all the while pretending to support them and their religious freedom
If MC reciprocated his feelings, he would be overjoyed because this makes it a HUNDRED times easier for him to persuade them to stay with him and be with him forever
And it’s true, with his silver tongue and patience, he could absolutely crumble MC’s devotion to God if MC’s not careful
If Belphie was unsuccessful with his attempts to keep them with him forever, he would be absolutely enraged by it
“They’re MINE! You stay away from them! I am so irrevocably in love them and I REFUSE to let Him have them!”
He would probably most definitely start a war with the Celestial Realm over this
#obey me! shall we date?#obey me!#satan obey me#asmo obey me#beel obey me#belphie obey me#satan x mc obey me#asmo x mc obey me#beel x mc obey me#belphie x mc obey me#obey me x muslim!mc#muslim!mc#swd satan#swd asmodeus#swd beelzebub#swd belphegor
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Exhausted Wings / Good Luck
I wanted to explore how pacts (found in the Drakengard series) could work in the RWBYverse, since its just all magic. I also just want clover to live, but I also wanted to explore this. Besides, the literal binding of two souls has some nice romantic potential.
AO3 Link to Full Fic
Chapter 1: Exhausted Wings / Unknown Tunes
In an instant, the cold and desolate white landscape was marred by the crimson stain of warm blood. The bloody weapon was yanked out of the body it pierced with a bit of resistance, just as Tyrian liked it. He only wished he could see the look on Clover’s face. A dying man’s eyes were his most favorite to look at, besides the eyes of his Queen, of course. If it was any consolation, he could see Qrow’s eyes. Shock, fear, regret, and the faintest hint of hatred. An absolutely delectable concoction of emotions that gave Tyrian an absolutely euphoric feel.
“I’LL KILL YOU!” Qrow said as he lunged at the chaotic killer. As he dodged the pathetic punch, he could more clearly see the shift in Qrow’s emotions. Hatred was on full display now. Mixed in was also desperation and despair, another delectable sight to the scorpion. Tyrian had the feeling he would be sleeping well with some wonderful memories of Atlas in the coming nights. With an Atlas airship nearing, he decided to leave the black bird with a few choice words and a maniacal laugh. He knew he would have another chance to cause that bird some more pain. A moment later he heard a blood-curdling wail that made him smile from ear to ear. He had the feeling he would be sleeping very well. He considered it rather unfortunate that such emotions were difficult to produce in his conquests. With that, he continued his trek across the snow and ice to see what more chaos he could induce.
-
Raven… sensed something, and it concerned Qrow. Odd, she thought. He is a grown man and he abandoned the tribe. He can do whatever the hell he wants. If he ends up dying, then it’s his own fault for letting himself be so weak. she reasoned with herself . Despite this logic, she still felt that she wanted to see what was happening to him. He obviously wasn’t dead, yet, at least, as she knew she could still open a portal to him. Whatever he was going through was intense and distressful. She could tell that much. The Maiden’s powers had a strange interaction with her semblance. Not only could she also open a portal to their location, she could get a sense of how they were feeling in the moment and the state of their aura, among other things. She was also able to tell that he was somewhere near Atlas. Hmm… his aura is low, and in immense distress, I perhaps have something to gain. I could finish him off and show what happens when people abandon the tribe, their family. If I’m lucky, he’ll be near some dust shipments I can raid. With her reasoning sound, and nothing better to do, she notified her subordinates that she had business to take care of. She returned to her the privacy of her tent and stepped through a crimson-black portal.
She told herself this was a mission to help unify the tribe, a noble goal, but deep down, locked away in her subconscious, she was concerned. Qrow was her brother. They had grown up together and survived all that life had thrown at them thus far. Why? She would think on quiet nights when pondering on Qrow and his decision to leave the tribe. Why would he leave the tribe? Why would he leave me? Why? We had been through so much together. We grew strong together. We grew strong together until he decided to be weak . Corrected another part of her mind. To her, that part of her mind was the one she should listen to. To her, it was logical and would ensure the survival of the tribe. To her, it had no weaknesses.
-
In the midst of his tears, he heard the telltale sound of his sister’s portal crimson-black behind him. “Now is not the time Raven.” he said without turning his back to face her, voice straining. Just my luck. Clover’s dead, Tyrian has escaped, and now Raven shows up.
“You really have let yourself become weak.” she said, voice almost as cold as the Ice Queen. Qrow could see the airship landing, though he didn't really care. No one needed him anymore. Team RWBY is stronger than I’ll ever be. They’ll be better off without my bad luck anyways. Oz still has his mind locked away. James has taken a dive off the deep end and wants him captured so he could just be thrown into a jail cell. James… what happened to you, you monster.
“Can't you ever do something useful-”
“Halt!” cried the people in atlas uniforms who had their guns aimed at the avian siblings. But before they could do anything else, a slash of energy knocked them out, and a thrown sword knocked out the pilot through the windshield. As she walked over to retrieve the sword embedded in the military-grade windshield, Qrow realized something…
“Raven. Help me form a pact.” Their tribe had a story. It was the story of the origin of their tribe. A pact was first made by two people who became lovers. These two men, strangers at the time, were said to be near death as grimm surrounded them. However, they made a pact to live on, with each other, for they had no one else. With their strength renewed, and more powerful than ever, they killed the hoard of grimm. As they traveled, they allowed other strong souls, pact or not, to join them in their journey to survive. And the rest is history People could obtain power by binding themselves to another and forming a strong connection. That was its moral, hence the emphasis on family within the tribe. Those connections with each other are what made the tribe strong. However, the specifics on how to form a pact were lost to time. What remains can be found in their wedding ceremonies.
That was, until they met Ozpin, and told them a more complete version of the story, including how to perform the ritual. It demanded the blood of the people who would form a pact, words with meaning to the pact partners, physical contact, and a great deal of magic. It could not only bring back someone on the brink of death, it could bring them back from death itself. However, it was also very dangerous, resulting in the death of the pact partners if done wrong. This was also typically formed by one who had magical abilities, and one who did not. The one who did not have magical abilities would often bear a mark on their body and lose something about them. Oz told them this in order to gain their trust. Granted, he still withhold other information, like how their tribe does not actually descend from that original tribe. They were also wiped out when the Brothers Grimm left long ago. He imagined that neither would be able to perform it since they couldn't do magic, and had no idea how it would interact with aura and semblances. But regardless, here was Raven, a maiden with the magic capable of forming a pact.
“And why should I? I have half a mind to just finish you off here and now, and I’m not even sure it will work.” she said as she pulled the sword out of the windshield.
“I don’t care. I’ll return with you to the tribe, and follow your every order.” He could see that caught her attention. It’s a win-win for both of us. Either I’ll end up dead and be one less thorn in her side, or Clover will be alive and I’ll be at her every beck and call.
“Alright then. Get what we need.” Qrow went to grab Kingfisher, and the bloody Harbinger. He could feel the tears coming as he passes Clover’s lifeless body, Harbinger in hand. He used Kingfisher to make a cut on his arm to gather some blood. He could hardly stand to look at his sister’s face as he gave her the weapons.
“Any request for the words?”
“Good luck.” It wasn’t much to work with, but it’s all he really had. He moved to lie down next to Clover, and took his still warm hand into his. He could really feel the warm tears rolling down his face now. Raven didn’t say anything about it as she crossed the weapons at her chest so that dead and live man’s blood was touching.
“Someday,
I knew
That I
Would find
You Whom
I Would love in the days of the new ”
Qrow let out a small chuckle, almost a sob, as tears streamed down his face. This was the beginning of a wedding song. Heh. Damn you Raven. I always did want to get married. His body began to feel odd, now that he noticed it, and the sky above him was turning to a reddish-purple too. I’m not dead, so I guess that's a plus.
“May
I find you in the new life
Where
We
Can exist without the fear of my death.”
Now he was really crying, trying to at least hold back his sobs. At least funeral songs are an appropriate thing to cry at. A funeral song meant to be sung by the one who lost their love. And since he was crying, that meant he was still alive, and the ritual was persisting. The sky was a deep read now, almost like his eyes. What he did not see was how a sliver of the horizon was now a brilliant green, much like Clover’s eyes. Raven could see, and had to admit it was an awe-filled display of her power. She could also see that the blood stained weapons were also glowing with magic, her brother and the dead guy too.
“Sing a song with me
We
We can find new life
One away from Strife
They can hold their own
Loan
Loan us your loved luck
With you our lives won't suck
And with this farewell,
I
Hope
That
You
May find
All your hopes and dreams,
Yes,
And for this I wish
You good luck.”
How Raven came up with that song, he did not know, and neither did she. Perhaps it was the magic. They could feel the ritual finalizing. Raven could see something rather interesting. Their auras were beginning to mix. Red met green, and green met red. And Raven dropped the weapons. They were incredibly hot now. And the sky was an odd gradient of red and green. In a sudden blast and a flash of light, the pact process was complete. Qrow felt… revitalized. His body wasn't sore. He checked his scroll, and found both his and found both his and Clover’s aura at one-hundred percent. Just to be safe, he checked for a pulse on the still unconscious Clover, and found steady beat. He felt ecstatic, though only for a moment. He was honor bound to follow his sister now, for better or worse. Considering all he was leaving behind, he felt that it was for the better.
“What now, big sister?” He wiped the smile off his face. She doesn’t deserve to see it.
“Know any places to get some dust?”
-
Clover feels himself begin to awake. His eyes are still adjusting. The sky looks… red? It is cloudless now and he swears he can see two black dots flying to somewhere in the red sky. It looks less red now. He moves his hand to his stomach, and remembers. He jumps up. Is this the afterlife?! He thinks, eyes wide and adjusted now. He looks around and finds that his uniform still has a gash in it and is colored crimson like the ground beneath him. There's also a nasty scar. He also finds some Atlas officers lying on the ground and an airship nearby. This is not the afterlife. Weapon. I need a weapon! If he was still alive, that meant he could die again, and the downed officers were not a good sign. In the snow, he found the bloody Harbinger. He scanned the area and found no threat. He proceeded cautiously to the aircraft, on edge for any threats. He searched it and found nothing odd, aside from a damaged windshield. Robyn. He moved quickly to search he downed airship for her, but as he turned around, he was met with an arrow to the forehead.
"What happened here?!” she said as the man toppled back, dropping Harbinger. As he toppled back, he hit one of the seats, causing some of the items in the storage above him to fall onto him.
“Tell me NOW, or I’ll make this one break your aura.” she threatened as she loaded an explosive arrow.
“I-I don’t know,” he said as he was shaking his head, “I thought I was dead! Qrow, Tyrian, and I were in a fight after we crashed, then Qrow broke my Aura, a-and then Tyrian killed me with Harbinger! I don't know what’s happening either!” Please believe me, please believe me.
“That's a load of crap. You died, but know you're alive? I don't need my semblance to know that's a lie.” Clover closed his eyes prepared himself for his aura to break, but heard a click and felt nothing. Another click, and another, and a few more in rapid succession. Nothing. He opened his eyes to find Robyn frustrated with her weapon.
“Why aren't you working?!” she demanded. With a strong hit to its side, the arrow flew, narrowly missing Clover. He could feel it whizzing past his cheek and hear its sharp sound as it passed his ear. Lucky me.
“Robyn please! Listen to me.” he extended his hand out to her. She took it, her grip like a vice.
“What happened here?”
“It was just as I said earlier. Me, Qrow, and Tyrian were all fighting each other. Qrow broke by aura, Tyrian stabbed me with Harbinger, and I died. And for some reason, I’m alive now. I don't know where Qrow is, and Tyrian has escaped.” Their arms glowed in approval.
“How? How did you come back from the dead?”
“I don't know. I-” My hand… it has a ring? This… is one of Qrow’s rings, and on my ring finger no less.
“When’d you get married?” she asked. He noticed he was now holding his hand to his face, right in front of Robyn.
“I never was. This is one of Qrow’s rings.”
“I'm guessing he’s alive then, and that he has your weapon, and your four leafed clover pin, cause I don't see them around.”
“My weapon?” My weapon? I'm a huntsman. Huntsmen have weapons, but I don't?
“Yes, Kingfisher.” He gave her an inquisitive look. “Your fishing rod!” she shouted.
“It… doesn’t ring any bells.” I had a fishing rod for a weapon? I do like fishing, but that sounds impractical.
“Ugh. Whatever. You probably hit your head. You'll remember soon enough. Now help me get these guys onto here.”
“Affirmative.” As Clover loaded the last person, he tripped at the entrance of the ship, throwing the officer into the air and landing face first onto its cold metal floor. Luckily, Robin was able to catch the unconscious, airborne officer.
“Since when do you trip? With your luck, you never trip.”
“That is odd. Ever since my semblance manifested, I've never tripped, to the best of my knowledge.”
“We can look into it more later. We've wasted enough time as is. We have to go save Mantle.”
“Bu-” An explosive arrow was launched to meet him square in his face. She didn’t even turn around to aim. Despite this, his aura didn’t break. He flew back in pain, but was able to cushion the blow by landing on one of the seated officers. Ow.. I would hate to be this unlucky guy when he wakes up.
“Say ‘Ironwood has ordered us to Atlas’ or whatever, I’LL KICK YOU OFF THIS SHIP AND LEAVE YOU STRANDED! And if you're stuck out there alone, THEN GOOD LUCK!”
Good luck… good luck. He was taken aback a bit. He remembers that those were his last words to qrow. He also remembers how Qrow cried for him. And that scream…
“Why are you crying? I know you're not that soft.” She had no sympathy for him. He didn't blame her. He looked out the window to see Mantle in Chaos. And Atlas safe in the sky. He wiped his tears and got up.
“I'm with you. All of you.” He extended his hand to her.
“Why the sudden change of heart?”
“Qrow and his kids, they're right. And I want to do this for Qrow. He wanted me to do this. To think for myself, and do what is right. When I died, I could also remember him crying for me. No one’s ever cried for me. I can almost feel his pain. I don't want to make him feel anything like that when I find him again. I want him to be proud of me.” Their arms glow approvingly.
“Maybe you have gone soft, but I think its for the better.”
“Thanks.” He looked at the ring on his hand. What did happen to you? To us?
“But don't be dumb this time around. If you can choose between fighting the homicidal murderer or your boyfriend, choose the homicidal murderer please.”
“B-boyfriend?” He feels the blush across his face, though is lucky Robyn is too busy getting the ship off the ground to notice. For all the flirting he does, he can't say he’s had one. Boyfriend does sound nice. Especially when it’s Qrow. Hmph. Wouldn't it be funny if this ring meant that were married. He could not help but admire the band. Qrow’s favorite one , if he was remembering correctly. Where are you?Wherever you are, know that I love you. Good luck.
“Enough daydreaming lover-boy.” she said with a smile on her face. She was happy to see her old friend on the side she was on. The side of the people. “We have a country to save.”
Clover looked out the window at the sky. In his reflection, he noticed that one of his eyes was red. Qrow’s red. Quietly, he said “Good luck to us.”
#Won't You Come To Me - Island Country of Adornments#The Shaowlord's Wife - And Then The Moon Flew Away#fair game#qrow branwen#clover ebi#wow I hope thinking abt drakenier/rwby doesnt awaken anything in me#3k words#I cant believe I tricked all those people into reading something inspired by drakengard#rereading it though...#kinda cringe#but i was sure as hell having fun#fun facts!#this was just supposed to be its own fic#and nothing more#also i named the first tune as on my phone#bc the first part matched the tune and the second part because it the music box was a part of a japanses jewlery box that I unfortunately n#i named the second tune#the first pat because on the music box's lid is a thread picture of a woman and the tune reminded me of the shadowlord's theme from nier#the second part of the name is because i thought it matched the tune#also i still have this music box#i love music boxes#Exhausted Wings / Good Luck#rwby
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ayyyyy happy 4/13 have my second list of classpects, vox machina edition! (@lostsometime to add to the homestuck au)
(m9 here)
vex - thief of mind
vax - rogue of blood
percy - witch of light
keyleth - page of breath
scanlan - thief of life
grog - prince of rage
pike - heir of space
tary - witch of mind
first off, there are a couple copies here, and they don’t have a time player, so vox machina on their own could not win the game. but hey, weird plot shit exists, and the alpha kids managed it by combining their session with the beta kids, so who knows how this would go
(explanations under the cut)
1) vex - thief of mind
vex has a lot of ideas about her sense of self. but when you get right down to it, none of them are actually about her sense of self, and rather about how people see her. image is important to mind players, but it’s not really linked with identity. in fact, the canon description of mind players states they have very fluid, shifting concepts of identity, it’s far more important to them that they remain rational and have a logical line of reasoning than sticking to things just because they feel right or wrong. and i think this is very true for vex, she doesn’t often doubt herself, but she doesn’t really know who she is, beyond just what she’s trying to emulate or avoid.
thief bc she’s still one of the stealth twins, it is very her thing, but she’s definitely the louder of the two, the thief demands to be known, the rogue quietly assists. she’s headstrong, stubborn, and the world owes her everything it’s taken from her, which she definitely plans to steal back. and honestly that’s her right and i love her.
2) vax - rogue of blood
god i really love the fact that the twins are a thief/rogue pair, it not only fits who they are as people but vex being the active version of vax’s passive class and vice versa fits so well
(also fun fact, i have something of a personality test/checklist i grade characters on when i’m struggling to figure out their class or feel like i’m being biased towards one particular classpect. there’s 15 possible points per class, most characters will get a highest score of maybe 9 or 10, homestuck characters get something like 12-13. vax, however, does what no one else has ever done, and scored all 15 points in rogue. he is more rogue per rogue than any rogue in homestuck. 100% pure distilled rogue boy.)
personality quizzes aside though, he really is so obviously a rogue. he’s got everything of the thief archetype built into his entire character, but while a homestuck thief steals by their own will and for their own benefit, all of the rogue’s same actions go towards supporting their friends. also, as a passive class, their decisions tend to be less personal drive based and more guided by their aspect, as if the universe was working through them, which is definitely the case for our champion of the raven queen. they’ve been described in canon as the robin hood class, rebellious, but in an altruistic way. true punk. fuck the system, love recklessly
blood players need a family. they draw their strength from the bonds they have with those around them, they’re stubborn as all hell, especially when it seems like there’s no way out of a situation, but it’s in determination to protect their chosen family and keep everyone safe and happy. if they’re leaders, they’re inspirational ones rather than commanding ones. and this is “dramatic speeches about teamwork and morality” vax, “what the fuck do we have in this world except for moments with each other” vax, “how lucky i have been to have had all of you” vax. what else could he be?
3) percy - witch of light
so percy’s an interesting one, because i kinda wanna give him two classpects? like, if you classpect percy before or during the briarwood arc, he’s a prince of light. after that, he becomes way more of a witch. (though, to be fair, light players and witches are both incredibly prone to getting possessed, so, maybe he was a witch all along and just acted really prince-y)
he’s definitely an active class, no doubt about it. percy will fight gods to achieve his own ends. prince, being the most active class, and one designed to cause destruction, definitely suits orthax percy. but then things change, and you realise what he actually is
witches are manipulator classes, like knights, but active manipulator classes. they can’t create things out of nothing like some classes do, but instead bend and twist and transform their aspect (and the world around them, using their aspect) to achieve their goals. percy’s human, and not magic. he doesn’t have any particular special abilities in order to do things, he gets by on ingenuity and reckless bravery. that post that was going around a while ago about how all of vox machina are basically gods and percy’s just a guy with a gun does well to prove the point here, because he keeps up anyway. he’s made mistakes and there are things in the world now that he can’t change, but he does his best to work within those constraints and make as good of a world as he can with what he has
and what he has, usually, is knowledge. which is the main dominion of the light aspect, along with luck (and, you know, taliesin and dice rolling). light players are scholars first and foremost, but very rarely bookish scholars, instead the kind of scholars that think they can make a demon deal and get away with it because they’re clever enough for that, and also they’re extra enough that they’d do it anyway for the aesthetic
4) keyleth - page of breath
this was the easiest of all of these for me to do, it just slots so neatly into place. pages are a slow moving class that have to work their way around all the side quests before they get a lot of their power, but after that they’re powerhouses. they’re easily underestimated, by others and by themselves. keyleth takes a while to come to terms with herself and her power and her effect on the world, most of the plot takes place within her slowly completing her aramente, she often worries she won’t be good enough for anything that’s expected of her, but once she hits level 20 she is a master of the elements, a true leader of her people, and literally unkillable.
breath fits for two reasons. the first is being the aspect of freedom, of acting without being controlled by anyone else’s thoughts or decisions. and keyleth, for all her anxiety and all her bad luck, has never made a choice she didn’t agree with. along with vax she’s the first to speak up when she feels like the group’s moral choices aren’t holding up to her standards, when they’re moving in a direction that isn’t right. the second is that it’s the aspect of air, and the wind, and she’s literally the leader of the air ashari. she can and does in fact do the windy thing
5) scanlan - thief of life
we’ve covered life already in my nott/veth explanation, but it really is so scanlan. look at this excerpt and tell me it’s not written for scanlan shorthalt
[If you're poisoned, chances are the Life-bound have something for what ails ya. This applies to both physical and mental suffering, though it might not be a cure you'll like. They also have the tendency to put other's needs before their own, which never ends well for anyone, because the Life-bound can grow bitter if they feel their own self-care has had to be shunted aside.]
figuring out class was harder? a lot of vox machina classes are pretty difficult to figure out. prince would work to an extent because of scanlan’s self destructive tendencies, bard would work to an extent because he often feels like things are out of his hands, but i think i’m going with thief. scanlan’s more of an active class, despite playing support in dnd, he’s very self motivated and not one to listen much to the guidance of the universe. thief i feel fits with the headstrong attitude, the creative out of the box thinking, and the need for attention in a very specific way (less so having people celebrate you, scanlan enjoys that but can easily shrug it off if it doesn’t happen, it’s more causing things for the sake of knowing and having other people know that you caused them)
6) grog - prince of rage
honestly this is the one i’d be most willing to bend on? it, took me forever to come up with any kind of classpect for grog, he seems to resist being classpected. i know a lot about him as a person, but translating that into either class or aspect was just hard. but i’ve gone with prince because grog’s never stopped for anyone (except maybe pike), because it’s a destruction based class, because it’s the most active on the scale, and grog is definitely one to go do things purely because he wants to do things and wants to do them now.
rage because rage players are about truth at all costs, even if that cost is often destabilizing entire systems and leaving the rubble to pick itself back up. and it makes me think about how grog has never really wanted to disguise himself, and especially about just before the kevdak fight - he knew he would probably get killed if he went back there as himself, but he refused to go in under false pretenses, because that wouldn’t be right
7) pike - heir of space
ashley’s just always drawn to those heirs. i think though with pike it definitely is a consequence of her being in and out a lot, because she’s not just an heir, she’s an heir of space.
heirs tend to stumble into their role rather than creating it or seeking it out. on a meta level, ashley only created pike because the team needed a cleric and she worked it out from there, but as far as pike herself is concerned, she doesn’t really know what she’s supposed to be doing or what her purpose is, but she’s been trying to do her best to follow sarenrae’s teachings, trying to do her best to guide her friends, and hoping that nothing goes wrong along the way.
space, too, is an aspect of patience. it’s about valuing the journey more than the destination, it’s about seeing what the universe has in store for you and trusting that it’s just as likely to turn out good as it is bad - you’ll know when the time comes to step in, at which point space players are pretty fierce fighters. but for now, for pike, it’s trying to help her friends one step at a time
8) tary - witch of mind
tary is like percy but cheating. he has a lot more resources to work with bc he just goes out and buys shit. but the witch reasoning still stands, they are very similar people in that respect, good at working within a set of restraints so well you don’t even notice the restraints are there
mind rather than light because, tary doesn’t quite hunger after knowledge in the same way. instead he’s much more concerned with the application of it, of how to get from point a to point b as efficiently as possible, and how that benefits him. (also because he’s not nearly as extra as light players. have you met light players? like i love them but jesus christ. who let them be Like That)
#i also have essek and gilmore classpected#but i only have so much writing energy in a day#so we're spacing these out#cr1#cr thoughts#text#meta#homestuck#classpects#vax'ildan#vex'ahlia#percy de rolo#keyleth#pike trickfoot#scanlan shorthalt#grog strongjaw#taryon darrington
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Harmony Precarious :: Death is an Art
Three Blind Tooke Part Two Precarious Harmony
Read on AO3
Warnings: some death
Three Blind Tooke
Part Two: Precarious Harmony
Chapter Forty-Two: Harmony Precarious :: Death is an Art
No matter what anyone else said, you viewed life, and death, through a scope. That was not to say it was your ideal method of connecting with others. War demanded that people adapted, however, and so you had. How many possible outcomes were there if Rey were to return to the Resistance? There were three ways you could tick off the top of your head that resulted in her demise. Two possibilities that you hoped for. Many more that passed through your head even as you whispered to her once you were absolutely certain that no one else would hear your words. It was through a scope you had witnessed Kylo Ren on the battlefield, and it had been through a scope, while on a mission, that you had seen it—he had her becoming just like the monster he had been. You did not explain it to her quite so bluntly. Instead, you kept the focus on her ensuring Finn and the others were safe. You stressed that Master Skywalker would be able to provide training that Kylo Ren would not. The jaded Jedi Master would aid Rey on her journey in learning of both herself and the Force.
Rey barely listened to you. Her eyes glazed over, her mouth pinching tight, and she stared sightlessly at the far wall of the room. She was struggling with the darkness. You saw it; it was the same power that tempted you. The power that granted strength, which you required in order to save those you loved. That was the ironic thing. Sometimes, to save what we love, we destroy ourselves. To bluntly tell her that she wouldn’t be able to save you would have put an end to the conversation.
You knew who you were more than she knew who she was. Strange. Ironic. You had been destroyed in a variety of ways, however you had had the privilege of being raised by two strong parents that had assisted you in your very first journey of self-discovery. She hadn’t. Rey had waited in limbo for all those years. Waited for her family to return when they would not. She had survived. It was not the same as living. You? You had lived. Now you were focused on surviving, on aiding others in surviving. But you had had your chance. Rey hadn’t.
That was who you were, a part of who you were. You were someone who wanted those you cared for to succeed, and you cared deeply for this young woman who had for so long now been your hope. You wanted to pay Rey back for the burden you had placed on her. To put someone on a pedestal was a sure means of pushing them over the edge, of watching them crack. People were not objects. They were flawed. All of her insecurities, cracks for her mind. To fail you was to increase the crack that symbolized her self-doubt.
You also learned that you were a liar. With the best of intentions, you touched her leg and whispered, “This is the only way you can protect my mother. Hux will find her here.” It was a lie because your mother going to the Resistance would increase her risk of being discovered by Grand Marshal Hux. You waited there with bated breath, wondering if the young woman would realize this as well.
“Master Skywalker will be able to protect her. I can try to ask him—”
“And if Kylo somehow hears you through the bond?” you asked, a tad bit harsh though also growing gentle near the end. You sucked your lips into your mouth, bit down on them, and shook your head. “You would lead the entire First Order to them. And if my mother’s there when they arrive, she will die.”
The close proximity of the fallen Supreme Leader Snoke’s ashes to your heart may have darkened your soul. It was far too easy to say a lie when you believed it was for a righteous cause. A part of you knew the wrongness of it. It made your stomach ache. You felt nauseated for an entirely new reason that had nothing to do with the medication that had been helping your body mend.
There were reasons that she hesitated that had nothing to do with the dark power offered to her if she remained active in Kylo Ren’s plans. Those two members of the Knights of Ren that had continued to grow close to her. To propose to them that they defect offered an opportunity that the plan would amount to nothing. For her to not offer had the reverse possibility; if they would have gone with her and she failed to ask, she was damning them to forever remain her enemy.
“Rey,” you said quietly, pulling one last trick from your bag. “After I kill Phasma… Grand Marshal Hux will know. He will look for any way to retaliate at that point if I do not join him by betrayed Kylo. Please help my mother.”
Cruel. Manipulative. You swallowed thickly, and hoped that she did not see how your body was reacting. Rey rose from the end of the bed, informed you that she would think things over, and walked out of the room. You did not mind that there was a delay in the answer. You hoped that it meant she would figure out a way to safely remove your mother from Naboo, that perhaps she would know how to address the Knights and have them join her.
Staring at her retreating form, you wondered how the former scavenger would fare if Grand Marshal Hux had given her the ultimatum. Kill Kylo Ren or lose everyone she loved. Because, just like it had been with you, there was no winning. You would both lose in the end. The people you loved were either in the Resistance or simply rejected the First Order and its ideology. The former general knew this. He would attack where it hurt. Always. As each person changed, they developed a new weakness. Grand Marshal Hux would find and exploit that weakness. Rey had shown that she was compassionate by remaining behind with you.
You did not for one second doubt that Hux would not use that to his advantage. He was the destroyer of worlds. He, along with Kylo, had forced your ally to break in an interrogation by hurting you in front of them. Rey had the Force while the Grand Marshal did not. That would not stop him. According to the stories from other Resistance members and your parents alike, the Jedi had not been hunted only by Force users—not only Darth Vader. The Force got one only so far. The mass arsenal at his disposal and the merciless nature that would allow him to kill innocents, that was how Armitage Hux would break Rey’s spirit. Unless she returned to Master Luke before the redhead could verbally deliver that ultimatum. That lie that was worse than yours. That he would spare someone if she worked for him. She would be torn in two by that decision.
How am I different by using my mother to make her leave?
You wrapped your arms around yourself, and looked at the clock. It would not be long until dawn, at which point the ship for you would arrive. Aside from having the young Supreme Leader act as bait, there were other factors in your plan that would lure Captain Phasma to where you wanted her. Armitage Hux, whether intentional or not, had dropped far too many hints for you to not have realized that he was responsible for the death of Brendol; more than that, that Phasma had played a part. She would not allow this information to sway the minds of those loyal to her. Thus you had had Kylo Ren plant the seed by mentioning the elder Hux in passing, and he would have followed that up with the death of Han Solo. Patricide, both of which solidified one’s place in the war. Armitage as Grand Marshal. Phasma as Captain. Kylo Ren as Supreme Leader. The chrome-armored female would collaborate with the redhead. To what extent, you were not certain. The only thing you knew was that she would see to matters with Kylo personally. She could not trust another to attempt his murder. Could not chance him walking away alive.
There was no more time for you to attempt to convince Rey to leave and rejoin the Resistance. You had offered the suggestion. The rest was up to her.
A smaller scope provided you with view of your husband. A slightly larger was necessary to track Captain Phasma’s movements. She had surprised you by arriving with what could amount to a tiny army—army may not have been the correct term given its size, however it would do. These ‘troopers had to know what Phasma’s end goal was. In certain respects, you had expected as much; that there existed officers and stormtroopers alike not content to serve under Kylo’s rule. Snoke had not exactly passed the torch willingly. If the female was spinning a tale that Kylo Ren had betrayed the First Order by killing Snoke—which, yes, he technically may have, to an extent—there were those loyal enough to her that they would risk their lives now to try to right that wrong.
This very much complicated your mission. It was a reason you had only rarely gone on solo missions when with the Resistance. You were assigned a target, and your comrades had worked to remove other obstacles. Somehow you would need to eliminate Phasma as well as these troopers before they could do whatever it was they planned to with Ren. Kill him obviously, your mind shot back. The unknown method was the issue. Numbers alone would not ensure a victory.
Maker, for all you knew, they could be sporting thermal detonators. Given that Phasma would have no death wish, you doubted it. She would sacrifice all of those stormtroopers in the blink of an eye, however she valued her own life. Maybe that was the plan instead. Use the stormtroopers as fodder—if they had smaller explosives on their person, the chrome-armored woman would be able to shoot them, detonating an explosion, and rid herself of Kylo and witnesses alike. Or else she would kill the stormtroopers later. It occured to you suddenly that she may not have revealed every ounce of information she was holding to those in white. There was no need to do that.
It made you absolutely sick to your stomach. The First Order treated people like fodder. The casualties of war had always refused to sit well with you. That was one of the reasons you preferred the scope. The limited view.
You estimated the length of time it would take them to reach the designated area where Kylo was waiting. Captain Phasma would have to make something of a production for the stormtroopers to work with her, even if she planned on killing them. You could not risk a transmission to the Supreme Leader being intercepted, and so you had to wing it while hoping that he could sense the presence of the stormtroopers. This was more akin to when you had been hunting Kylo Ren than when you had been given officers as marks. You could not chance a shot not hitting its target.
Once more switching to the other scope, you observed the man you had married making adjustments to a device in his hand. If memory served, this was a recording device that he would use to prove Phasma’s duplicitous nature. Depending on what was caught, the footage would have to be edited. These stormtroopers might make it difficult. Unless Ren could sway them.
If Hux had come with Captain Phasma, would I be hesitating at all? Or would I hope for a thermal detonator? Shoot it myself? All three members of the triumvirate gone in one attack.
If Kylo Ren had complicated you, Rey had added a new layer of complexity. She had ingrained in you a sense of hope that people could be changed. Even with all of your feelings for Kylo Ren, for the Ben Solo he had been and could have been, you had been prepared to kill him. The moment Rey had entered into the equation, it stopped being so simple.
You wished that you could return on a temporary basis to the Resistance to ask General Organa for advice. Perhaps Luke Skywalker as well. They had faced the Emperor and Darth Vader in the Empire, and now faced the entire First Order. Imperialists had turned. Some in the Resistance had told you the story of Han Solo, how at one point, prior to becoming a smuggler, he had been on the track to becoming an officer. People changed every day. Some atoned for their sins, or at least tried to.
Kylo Ren would never be able to undo the deeds he had done. He could not take back off the murders, the ordered executions, any of it. Rey’s influence on you had you imagining a Kylo who did good instead. Someone who helped others with what life he had left.
Behind the scope in your hands, you were crying.
You thought of the families of the officers that you had killed. Colonel Riggards. Widowed with two children. Orphans now, tooke. Those children would grow to despise the Resistance with a bias that you could understand. You had robbed them of their father. The deeds they went on to commit, if they chose to join the First Order and kill members of the Resistance, you were their reason. It did not make you fully regret your mission; you knew the reason Colonel Riggards had been made a target. His needs had helped to create you. That was the endless, vicious cycle. An eye for an eye until the whole galaxy was blind.
And there Rey was, a young woman with the ability to have mercy and compassion for her enemy.
But in the end, we all just become monsters.
You shoved aside the scope to eliminate the view of the man who was the catalyst for your transformation. Lifted the other to once more assess the speed of Phasma and her stormtroopers. That was the moment you noticed an inconsistency. The contact that you had had with Captain Phasma was limited. Yet the figure you observed in the armor there moved differently than the woman you had seen in the throne room of the Supremacy. You ran a calculation through your head to include the distance and how tall you knew Phasma to be. This person was not her.
Panic seized you. A cold sweat broke out across your entire body, and you could hear the chattering of your teeth. This was far too similar to that fateful day that you had become Kylo Ren’s prisoner. The hunted becoming the hunter. How had you not seen it sooner? You had been far too wrapped up in your own thoughts.
You whipped the scope, your view, back in the direction of the shuttle that they had arrived in. Nothing. Back and forth across the plane in futile attempts to locate the missing woman. Not that you had any idea as to her appearance. If you spotted a random female, you could not say with certainty that it was her. Would you hesitate to pull the trigger?
Relinquishing hold of your scope, you patted the ground beside you in search of the comm device. That was the moment you felt searing pain. All air knocked out of your lungs, your body convulsing. You rolled onto your back.
There. How had you not heard her? She was in her element; a miscalculation on your part. She could have slaughtered you if that had been her intention. Which meant that you were in for far worse. Another flashback to Kylo Ren taking you alive. Death would be an escape. You began to slip your tongue forward between your teeth.
Her lips curved upwards. The short, blonde hair slicked back with gel in a similar manner to how the Grand Marshal wore his. There was the possibility that it was his hair product that she used. Both so merciless. She wore First Order regulation slacks coupled with a tank top. So calm. The weapon with which she had pierced you remained in her hand. A thin, needle-like spear. The wound was not deep enough to kill you; she had avoided anything major. You were a pawn to her.
“You do your homework well,” she said, complimenting you in a way that also mocked everything you had worked for. It was apparent to both of you that you had not done your homework well enough. The hand not on the spear dropped down to a sack secured to her hip. She patted it. “So do we all.” It was large, and something within it moved. “Myrkr.” The smirk widened into a feral grin as realization dawned upon you.
He had always called you a weapon, a tool. Armitage Hux sprinkling what information was convenient for his plans. You had misstepped in the past. Always doomed to repeat your failures, you had stored away knowledge of the ysalamir and refused to mention it to Kylo. How many did they have? So do we all. Every one of those stormtroopers and the fake-Phasma were equipped with the creature. Multiple, when grouped together, could expand their Force-neutral bubble sometimes by kilometers. Ren did not stand a chance.
“Do they think they’re hunting Rey?” you shot through clenched teeth. Your hand felt along your back, at the wetness gathering in the material of your shirt. If you made an attempt to grab your weapon, Phasma would have you pinned by the shoulder. What you wanted to say was that she was not going to get away with this, but she very well could. The Resistance would not be intimidated—it was so ingrained in you to say that. You held your tongue, and waited for her to answer.
Her smirk faded away. Now the passive exterior revealed just how commonplace betrayal and death both were to her. She lowered herself onto one knee in unison with setting the tip of her spear against your shoulder in the exact spot you had believed she might. It bit through the material of your shirt and nicked the first layer of skin. Phasma’s free hand grabbed hold of your weapon. All the while, she did not break eye contact with you.
“You can save those stormtroopers. Kill him yourself. Think of the lives you will save.”
A challenge. It did not matter one way or the other to her. She simply wanted to see if you were able to set aside your humanity to kill your husband—all to save your enemies. They should have both been considered your enemy.
“It was your mission, wasn’t it?” A taunt, yet also genuine. Her eyes swept up and down your countenance. “Everything he did to you.”
So many things. Countless wrongs. Every fracture into who you had been morphing you into this person. All of that bringing you to this exact moment.
That she wanted you to pull the trigger, you understood this. The Knights of Ren would retaliate if they could say with certainty that she had been the one to kill him. The seed of doubt. The same game that you had played on her. She could blame Rey. Anyone who was not her. If Rey did choose to listen to you, if the female Force user left now to go to the Resistance, it did not matter what you did. The Knights of Ren would believe that you had killed their Supreme Leader.
Grand Marshal Hux had played you, had played Kylo Ren, had possibly played Rey. The three of you blindly trying to do what you each believed was right. All the while he kept Captain Phasma in the loop. When you had failed to express more interest in the ysalamir plot, he had chosen to go a different route.
They needed you alive for their plan to work; currently they were not in possession of a planet destroyer that could take care of the Knights of Ren on Naboo. Although, that was also the issue. Not all of the Knights were there.
You pulled in the muscles of your abdomen, which became more concave. “Very well.” The hard metal of the spear shaft whipped to the side, knocking against your head. You saw pops of red and black. Another smack.
It was through a scope that you would have watched the look on Kylo Ren’s face when the stormtroopers turned on him. Unless it had been Captain Phasma to cut through her own men and women after the fact with that red blade. Their bodies littered on the ground. The chrome armor damaged, albeit not beyond recognition. The Knights of Ren would believe her dead. Any argument or contradiction that spilled from your lips would be meaningless. The same plasma blade that had dealt death blows to the armored corpses had been used to cauterize the wound on your back.
The pouches containing the ysalamir were missing. That would have been damning evidence. A weak chuckle from the body beside yours, and you turned away from the dead. “Personal interests… You were the death of me, tooke.” There were pauses between several of the words. And you could not figure out what he was feeling. Even a warrior as mighty as Kylo Ren was no match for a shot he could not detect. You recognized the size and shape of the wound as belonging to the weapon that you had brought with you to kill Captain Phasma. She had dragged you here while you were unconscious. Your hands so red from all the blood.
There had been no need for her to kill you. Your head throbbed where you knew an egg had formed. You forced yourself to fight through the nausea, and touched the man’s chest. Despite the presence of the ysalamir, you could tell that he had been able to use the Force enough to lessen the blow; just like what he had done with the bowcaster shot. Only this time it had not been strong enough.
You rested your forehead over his heart, turned your head, and listened to his heartbeat. For so long it had been just the two of you. You knew what you should have been hearing. It wasn’t this. This? It was too weak.
You should have been happy. He had been your target for so long. What. Then. Tooka? You felt numb. Alternately, you experienced a sense of loss, of sadness. You were who you were because of him. Even before your imprisonment, his existence had assisted in shaping you. That was fading away. Which was hard to believe—he was too strong to die of this, wasn’t he? Had it always been this easy?
It had not been easy. You had lost yourself along the way.
Shifting onto your knees, you tugged him backwards, his head resting on your lower stomach so that your hands could lay splayed over his chest, one atop the other to where you could see the pair of tattoos. Is this what he had felt when you had died? Your lips were moving in a silent plea. Please. Over and over again. Although you were not certain what you were asking for. For him to die? For him to live? For someone to explain to you how you had gotten it all wrong?
The two who had conspired to put Kylo Ren into this position, they would be leading the First Order. Merciless. Willing to sacrifice so many people, so many worlds for their cause. They would destroy a planet to kill Luke Skywalker. They would use the ysalamir to void his powers, just as they had done with Kylo Ren. They would hunt down Rey the exact same way.
“Please,” you said, managing to vocalize the word. “Don’t leave me alone.”
Kylo weakly lifted one hand away from the wound in his stomach. A gut shot. A slow death. Maybe he would have found a means of finding a way off of this planet if Phasma had not taken the comm devices. If she hadn’t cut through his face, blinding him. That was the strange thing. He could not see you, though he had seen you. He felt you in the Force, with the Force. He was the only person who truly knew who you were. All of those times inside of your head; the one person in all of the galaxy who had truly known the person you had become. He had known the girl you used to be, and the woman you now were.
You did not want to die. You did not want to be alone either. The hand he had raised touched the backs of yours. “Blinded by sentiment.”
“Shut up,” you whispered. He was smirking, amused at the irony. You attributed that to the bloodloss. He should have been angry. His breaths were more shallow.
“You won, tooke.”
“Shut up.” This was a victory and a loss. This was the shattering of that precarious harmony you had started to rebuild your life around. Where did he end, and where did you begin? Your vision swam. Gloved fingers touched the two digits that held the tattoos. It had never mattered if he lived or died; he would always be a part of you. You wanted him to live. Then, thinking of everything he had done, you thought it might not be bad if he died.
He might not die, you thought, feeling his breathing become softer again, understanding that he had lost consciousness even as you heard the ship. Two ships. To ensure that her plan worked, Captain Phasma would have had to contact Grand Marshal Hux, who would contact the Knights. They would arrive before you could leave. If he holds on…
If he held on, the war would not be over. If he died, the war would not be over. You had wanted to make a difference in this galaxy. That was why you had joined the Resistance.
What. Then. What happens after Ren is dead?
You had never allowed yourself to form an answer. There had been countless ways that Kylo Ren could die. All of those scenarios… Did you return home? Did you find yourself?
Undoubtedly, Kylo Ren had been a monster in many respects. That only meant that Grand Marshal Hux and Captain Phasma were soulless beasts by comparison. You hunted monsters.
Leaning forward, you stared through blurry eyes at the hand atop yours. A droplet of water hit the leather. Tears. Only five. The numbness returned in a fresh wave. He remained breathing. The ship had touched the ground, shouts meeting your ears. You could not decipher what was being said. They spoke Basic, yet you understood absolutely nothing. Could hear them drawing their weapons. That did not register immediately though. Your heart hiccuped in your chest then pounded with such ferocity. His, on the other hand, had stopped.
You were grabbed away from his body by just one of the Knights. The bruising grip threatened to jerk you back to the present. Instead you stood there, the numbness stronger.
Something about Rey… She was not there, which meant she had heeded your advice. Should have known...her mother...gone… They thought you had killed Kylo Ren—hadn’t you, though?
Was there a part of you that had willingly overlooked all of those variables? They seemed so obvious now. Had there been a part of you that hated Kylo Ren that much, that wanted him dead so badly?
There was a weapon at your throat. A different Knight shoved its owner away, locked you in cuffs, and roughly steered you towards the second ship. You understood the necessity in these actions. There were medics present, grabbing hold of Kylo Ren’s body and bringing him to the other vessel. The Knights followed, no doubt to berate the medics for any misstep. Blood still poured from the wound.
He’s already dead. It’s too late.
You knew this by the utter emptiness you felt. The Force was in all living beings. It connected everything. You ached at the loss of that connection.
The ramp to the ship you were on started to raise as the Knight hit a button then pressed you into a seat. He strapped you in restraints. They would torture you, interrogate you to learn how you had fulfilled the task of killing Kylo Ren. Would press to know if Rey had been involved—her absence from Naboo meant that she could have been there on this planet with you when things had happened. She had already assisted in killing Snoke, why not the next Supreme Leader?
“Why did you do it?” the Knight asked. You did not turn to him, although you recognized his voice. He had bonded with Rey the most out of them all. “She told me to bring you to her after the mission ended...to be with your mother.” He had been willing to betray the Knights of Ren, but not kill them. “He kept your mother alive. Why didn’t you spare him?”
It was such a human thing to ask. It was what you knew Rey would ask you as hurt flashed across her face.
You should have seen Phasma through your scope. Instead you had seen a ruse without realizing it.
You won, tooke.
You remembered what it felt like when your father had relinquished his hold on your hand, had returned you to the world of the living. This was sort of like that. The feel of Kylo’s heart stopping as you held him in your arms.
“The Resistance will just love you, won’t they?” The bitterness in his voice was also so human. The sense of betrayal. Rey had left the Resistance temporarily, but that did not mean she would allow them to be killed. You could see just how this man was able to grow attached to her, enough that he would walk away from the First Order. He had, like Rey, hoped that Kylo Ren could change.
You did not understand why, if he hated you so much, he wouldn’t simply return you to the First Order like his fellow Knights were assuming he would. You did not understand why the Knights were taking the body to the First Order; it did not matter how much the medics worked on him. His heart had stopped beating. Grand Marshal Hux desired that it never restart.
The ring fingers on either of your hands twitched.
You did not want to die.
It felt like, along with him, you had.
#kylo ren x reader#kylo x reader#three blind tooke#kylo ren smut#kylo ren imagine#elmidolfanfic#precarious harmony#end of part two
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Days Gone Quiet- Jeff Skinner
A/N: somewhat unplanned. Somewhat angsty. Also 4.5K words, wow. Mentions of injuries and a trip to the hospital. So, that’s that. Listen to Days Gone Quiet by Louis Capaldi if you’d like.
It wasn’t the tossing and turning that broke down your resolve. It wasn’t the nightmares that kept you awake. Or even the silence that filled the house you’d once shared with him. It was the way that the bed was so cold without him next to you. The way that the closet was half empty now, other than the few things he’d left behind. The ring that you’d hidden in the back of your drawer. The thunderstorm added to this situation, it was the reason you called him.
You waited, knees pulled up to your chest, in the center of the bed. Even though he was half asleep, he almost didn’t hesitate before he said he’d come. So, all you could do was wait to see his headlights in your driveway. Or hear his footsteps coming up the porch.
It took twenty minutes for him to show up. The knock on the door was soft, but you knew. For a second you forgot that he wouldn’t use the key that you knew he still had. He was going to respect your privacy, even if you were the one who called.
“Hey,” Your voice sounded breathless.
“Hey.”
You stepped aside and let him into the house. It seemed strange, the whole idea of having to invite him into the house that he’d bought. The house that the both of you had planned on living in for the better part of the rest of your life.
A lot has changed in three months.
The thunder boomed again, causing you to jump. You felt his hand on your back in an attempt to steady you. You wanted to melt into him again. Just the feeling of his touch was enough. The knowledge that he was really here, right behind you, was enough for you.
“You okay?” He asked, voice still laced with the remnants of sleep.
“Yeah um- just the thunder,” You flinched again as another clap of thunder rumbled through the night.
He reached for your hand and pulled you towards the kitchen, only stopping to pull out a barstool and motion for you to sit. He flicked on the lights, only to realize they wouldn’t turn on. He looked back at you, obviously wanting answers.
“Storm knocked out the power right before I called you. That’s why the candles are everywhere,” You admitted.
“And here I thought you were having one of those candle nights,” He almost laughed, almost, “The tea still in the same drawer?”
You nodded. Part of you wondered how long it would take for him to realize you were in his old hoodie. It was one of the few things he’d left behind because he knew how much you loved it. He’d told you that when he left it on the bed that night.
Sometimes when you were missing him enough, you’d take out the old bottle of cologne that was still hiding in the back of one of his drawers, and spray just enough for it to smell like him. You’d never tell him that, but if he got close enough to you, he’d probably be able to smell it.
You watched as he moved around the kitchen like he’d never left. You hadn’t changed a damn thing in the house. Everything stayed the way it was, because this was still the house of your dreams, but the man of your dreams wasn’t in it. It wasn’t complete anymore.
“Here,” he put your mug in front of you. You hadn’t even heard the kettle, “You still take your tea the same way, right?”
“Um, yeah,” You were stunned honestly. Part of you hadn’t expected him to remember it.
But he’d always remembered all of your takeout orders, and Starbucks. He knew your favorite brands of chocolate, and what your favorite movies were for different moods. He knew which blanket you always wanted, and was always okay with the fact that you didn’t share, so he’d always grab one for himself.
He was always too good for you. He took care of you, he never questioned any of it. Even after a tough game, or a long practice, he was there for you.
“I’m sorry,” You choked out, “I shouldn’t have called you. I can’t keep doing this.”
“Y/N-”
“No, we broke up. We called it off,” You rushed to say, “I can’t keep calling you every time I need something. Or every time I’m lonely. This is unfair to you. I can’t.”
He reached for your hand. In the candlelight, you could see the hurt in his eyes. The initial fight was bad, not bad enough to do the two of you in, that happened after the fights that followed. You couldn’t even remember what they were about anymore. The longer you thought about it, the less it made sense to you.
“I’ll always come, no matter what.”
That almost broke your heart. You wondered if he could hear it crack over the sound of the thunder. The tears came before you could stop them, and next thing you knew, you were crying in your kitchen with his arms wrapped around you.
If you closed your eyes for a second, you might’ve thought that you were three years younger, and it was one of the first nights in this house. A storm came up that night too, bad enough to knock out the power. You’d always been terrified in storms, and that night you’d been spooked by the thunder so bad that you’d dropped your favorite mug. And just like tonight, he’d held you as you cried for almost no reason at all.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know you are, I am too,” he said so softly you almost didn’t hear.
You went another four months without seeing him after that night. You moved from the house you shared, you’d packed the rest of the things he’d left behind into a box and shoved it into the back of your new closet. No matter how hard you tried, you still couldn’t get rid of the last things you had left from your relationship. Just like his number was still in your phone, waiting for another moment of weakness.
You wouldn’t crack though, you were going to be stronger than you’d previously been. The next time you saw him was different, he didn’t even know you were there. You’d gotten tickets to one of his games, something you didn’t think you’d do again.
But nonetheless, you found yourself sitting in the arena, watching as he played better than you’d seen in a long time. He played better without you in his life, that’s all you could think. The game seemed to come easier to him now, he didn’t seem to think about it as he flew down the ice. The way he worked alongside his teammates was something you hadn’t seen in years. He was happy like this.
You smiled sadly when everyone started to chant his name after a goal. He was loved here. You were happy for him, even if you did feel a twinge of pain in your chest because you wouldn’t be there to experience this with him. You cheered with everyone else, maybe even louder, but you still hurt.
You forced your eyes shut when the game ended. Just being somewhere in the same room with him had been enough, but now you had to go home and keep trying to move on. You slipped out of the arena before they announced the stars. You just needed air.
Another month went by. You started trying to go out on a date here and there. You tried to focus on work and family. You tried to redecorate your new apartment and make it something that resembled a home. You wanted to make you life feel like yours again. You tried to ignore the ache and the way you constantly felt like something, or rather someone, was missing.
“So, tell me about yourself,” The guy in front of you said slowly.
You were focused on the TV across the room, the hockey game was in full swing. He wasn’t playing like himself. You could almost feel the panic that must’ve been running through his body. But he had his team to back him up, they’d keep him safe.
“Are you a hockey fan?” The guy asked, following your eyes to the TV.
“Hm?” You tore your eyes away and looked back at him.
What was his name? James? John? Something ridiculous that you’d never actually remember anyway? You knew he was trying, your blind date was making an effort to get to know you. He didn’t know that this was the last thing you wanted to do. That this was the last place you wanted to be.
In all reality, you wanted to be at that game. You wanted to be able to see it all unfold before you. Almost like that would make everything better, like it would ensure that they’d win and nothing would go wrong. As if you had the power to change any of it.
“Um, sorry,” You couldn’t help but feel your heart sink when the channel changed, “No, not a big fan. I just um, I used to date a guy that loved it. I guess it rubbed off on me.”
You tried to ignore the feeling in your gut. You felt like you were betraying Jeff by just calling him some guy. He was more than just some guy, he always would be. He was the love of your life, he was the man you’d planned on marrying. He’d never just be some guy to you, no matter how much time passed. But for now, it was easier to just pretend.
“Sorry, bringing up and ex isn’t exactly something you’re supposed to do on a date,” You laughed nervously, “I’m honestly out of practice.”
“If it makes you feel any better, my ex girlfriend loved hockey too,” He shrugged, “We can figure out this dating thing together, if you’d like?”
You found it easier to talk to him after that. You’d been wrong, his name was Jason, he was being groomed to take over the family business, which he seemed to be alright with. You had similar interests, which surprised you. Part of you hadn’t expected to connect with another human in the way that you had with Jeff. But despite not knowing him, you felt oddly comfortable around Jason.
You laughed with him and had fun. You were okay with being out for the first time since the breakup with Jeff. You were okay with not sitting across from him, not being at the game with him. You stopped worrying about him, just for a while, just while he was distracting you.
He was in the middle of a story from his childhood when your phone started ringing. You declined the call, not knowing who it was, and slid it back under your leg. You motioned for him to continue with his story, genuinely interested in what he had to say.
Five minutes later, your phone rang again, the same number flashes across your screen again. You sighed and tried to decide what to do. You didn’t want to walk away from him for a phone call that could be insignificant.
“It’s okay, answer it.”
You gave him an apologetic look before standing up and walking outside so he couldn’t hear you, and you wouldn’t disturb anyone else.. You slid your finger across the screen to accept the call before saying a quick hello. No one answered you though, but you could hear chaotic noises in the background.
“Hello?” You repeated.
“Y/N Y/L/N?” You knew the voice on the other end of the line, but you couldn’t quite remember where you knew them from.
“Yes, this is she,” You replied.
“Y/N/N,” They breathed a sigh of relief, “It’s Jack.”
You shook your head, “Jack? How do you even have my number? I changed it after-”
“After you and Jeff broke up, yes I know. But he gave the new one to me, just in case something happened.”
You could hear it in his voice. Something had gone wrong. Something wasn’t right. How long had you and Jason been taking? Had the game already ended? By the sounds in what you guessed were the locker room, it had to have ended, but how long ago? And why was Jack calling you? You of all people, why you?
“What happened?” You didn’t even know but you could feel your throat closing up.
“Where are you?” He was avoiding your question, but you could hear the panic in his voice.
“A few blocks from the rink, I’m-” Your voice didn’t want to work, you didn’t want to tell him where you were, “I’m on a date.”
“Which restaurant?”
You told him, feeling thankful that he didn’t seem to pause for a second. But that only meant that whatever happened was bad. You should’ve asked them to change the TV back over, just so you could keep an eye on the game. But if you had, would you have allowed yourself to have a good night?
“I’ll be there in less than five minutes. Wait outside, please,” He seemed to beg you.
“Jack, where are we going?” You finally found the strength to ask.
“You didn’t watch the game?”
“No, they changed the station and I-” You felt so guilty now, “What happened?”
“The hospital. I’m getting in my car now, go grab your things and wait.”
He hung up right after that. Your body felt numb. Jeff was hurt. That was the only reason Jack would’ve called, that’s the only reason he’d be taking you to the hospital. You wanted to google and see if you could find out more, but you could do nothing but wonder back into the restaurant, where Jason was waiting for you.
“Is everything okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I have to go,” You couldn’t explain as you tried to gather your coat and bag.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s that ex isn’t it? The one you’re still hung up on.”
“He’s hurt,” You forced out, “He- he needs me. I’m sorry.”
“I hope he realizes how lucky he is to have you,” He shook his head, “You seem like you’re an incredible person, Y/N, maybe we can just be friends. It seems neither one of us was ready for this. Go take care of him.”
“Thank you.”
You grabbed your bag and rushed back out. Your whole body was shaking, but it wasn’t from the cold. You couldn’t even feel the cold. But just the thought of Jeff being hurt, in ways that you didn’t even know yet, scared the shit out of you. The last time he’d gotten hurt you’d been there for him. You’d helped every step of the way, you’d known all of it. But you were in the dark this time. You didn’t even see it happen.
You started to pace back and forth while waiting for Jack. Would he even tell you what happened? Why would he even take you with him, it’s not like either of you would be able to see Jeff if he had already been admitted. You’d just have to wait.
Jack’s car pulled up a few minutes later. You didn’t stop to register that it was now storming before climbing into his car. He didn’t wait for you to get settled or buckle up before he took back off down the road. You were afraid to ask him what happened. You were afraid to actually know.
“How bad is it?” That was all you could force yourself to ask.
“They took him by ambulance straight to the hospital. We all agreed after the game what I should call you.”
“We all? Who is we?”
“The team.”
“But I haven’t spoken to any of you since the breakup.”
“But he talks about you, all the time.”
“Is he going to be okay?”
He sighed, “He’s tough, but he’ll need you.”
You tried to calm your nerves. He would be okay, eventually. Whatever was wrong could be fixed. He would be okay. You tried to keep reminding yourself of that as the hospital came into view. He’d been here before, but he would be okay.
Jack lead you into the waiting room and told the desk who you were here for. You couldn’t even think straight, you couldn't even hear what they told Jack. All you could do was just sit there and shake. Why did this feel so different from all of the other times?
You weren’t sure how long you waited, or at what point you fell asleep on Jack’s shoulder. But you were being gently shaken awake. A nurse stood in front of you and Jack, waiting for one of you to do something.
“You can go back and see him now,” Jack told you quietly, “Since you’re his fiance.”
You gave Jack a questioning look. But he mouthed something that resembled go with it and helped you up. You followed the nurse back through the halls. Why did Jack lie for you? Would he even want to see you again?
She stopped in front of a door, inside you assumed was Jeff. You forced air into your lungs. You hadn’t been prepared to see him like this, or see him period.
“He’s likely still asleep, they gave him a sedative along with something for the pain,” She informed you, “Just avoid his leg. I’ll be at the nurse’s station should you need anything.”
You forced yourself to nod and step inside after she opened the door. You clutched onto the necklace you were wearing, which happened to be the one that he’d given you years ago. You would’ve laughed at the irony of it, had you not spotted jeff first.
He was laying in his hospital bed, a bandaged leg peeking out from the blanket. Your heart broke. He wasn’t awake, just like she’d told you. But he looked awful. Jack never told you what happened earlier in the night, but looking at Jeff now, you assumed a fight was involved somehow.
He had a few stitches above his eye, which you had a feeling hadn’t been there before tonight. You still didn’t know what happened, but you hurt just thinking about it. You didn’t like the idea of him being in pain, especially not like this.
You pulled the chair up to the edge of his bed. You fought your tears, trying to keep them from falling. You wouldn’t cry now. You reached for his hand, just wanting to feel him and know that he was real. His hand was warm in yours, but he didn’t move.
You brushed little curls off of his forehead, “Hey twirly bird. I don’t really know if you want me here, so now would be the time to tell me. But if you do want me here, with you, I need you to say something.”
All that broke the silence of the room was the heart monitor beeping next to the bed and the soft rumble of thunder in the distance, “I ditched my date when Jack called me.”
You smiled as tears burned your eyes, “I was almost having a good night. He was a nice guy, but neither of us were ready to be on a date. I would’ve spent the whole time watching your game had they not changed the station. But then Jack called and all I could think about was getting to you.”
You thought of that night a few months ago, when the storm hit and you’d called him. So much had changed. You barely jumped when the next clap of thunder rumbled through the city. You held tightly onto his hand, willing him to be okay.
“You told me a few months ago that you’d always come, no matter what,” You whispered, “That goes both ways Jeff. I will always be here.”
You sat with him for nearly two hours before they came in and told you visiting hours were over, but that you could come back the next day and hopefully he’d be awake by then. You leaned down and kissed his forehead, whispering that you’d be there if he needed you, and then you walked out.
Jack offered to drive you home so that you didn’t have to get an uber. You couldn’t stop worrying about Jeff though, you’d been given the specifics of his injuries. He’d have to stay off his leg for a couple of weeks, and wouldn’t be able to return this season. He’d hate that when they told him.
You were still asleep the next morning when your phone started ringing. You blindly reached for your phone and answered before really looking to see who it was. You were too tired to really even care who was calling, it was too early on a Sunday morning for it to be anyone important.
“Hello?”
“Y/N?”
You shot straight up. He’d been the last person you’d expected to call you, “Jeff? How are you?”
“I want you here,” He said softly, you could tell he was in pain but he was okay, “I want you here with me.”
You took a deep breath and flung the covers off of yourself, “You want me there?”
“I’ve always wanted you here. I just- Will you come?”
“Always,” You replied, “I’ll always be there, no matter what Jeff. Give me twenty minutes.”
You got there in fifteen. The nurses didn’t question as you walked back to his room. This time, Jeff was sitting up, propped up by quite a few pillows, and watching TV. Seemingly happy for the moment. He smiled when he saw you, eyes lighting up for a moment.
“Hey Twirly Bird.”
“I thought we agreed that you were going to stop calling me that.”
You shrugged and sat back down in the chair, “Times change. How are you feeling?”
“Still a little foggy, but I’m alright,” he winced as he adjusted himself in bed, “I’m out for the rest of the season though, plus I have a lot of physical therapy ahead of me.”
“I know, the doctor told me last night.”
“They told you? But I thought they could only tell family?”
“Well, you seemed to still have me listed as next of kin and your emergency contact, plus Jack lied while I was asleep in the waiting room and told them I was your fiance.”
“I’m sorry you had to leave your date.”
“How did you know about that?”
“Heard you last night, plus Jack came by this morning to make sure I knew you’d been here,” he shrugged, “Is he at least a good guy?”
“Jason? Yeah, he’s great” You saw Jeff’s face fall just a bit, “But I think he and I aren’t cut out for each other.”
“Oh.”
You shrugged, not knowing what else could be said. He was the one that called you here and you’d come, the ball was in his court now. It was his move. So you just had to wait. Both of you had changed since you’d been together. In just a matter of months, you’d grown up in a lot of ways. You’d figured out what you wanted from life. Maybe it would be enough this time, if you decided to try again. If he decided.
“I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you too Jeff.”
“How’s your new place?” he questioned.
“It’s nice, but I’ll be honest, it doesn’t feel like home. But it’s nice.”
“I know the feeling,” He laughed lightly, “I end up crashing with Jack a lot of times because I don’t want to go back to an empty apartment.”
“He’s a good friend,” You told him, “The first thing he did last night was call me. I’m pretty sure he did it the second he was able to.”
“I’m glad he did. Otherwise...Well, I’m just glad you’re here Y/N.”
“Not the drugs talking though, right?”
He shook his head and reached for your hand, “I meant what I said, I want you here. I never stopped wanting you here.”
“Maybe we should have this conversation once you’re a little better,” You laughed.
“But will you stay?”
“I’m not going anywhere. You always come to comfort me during a thunderstorm,” You reminded him, “This is like your storm. I’ll be here until you don’t want me to stay.”
He flashed a dimpled smile, “I won’t ask you to leave.”
“Okay.”
So, you sat with him all day, and the next day, and stayed with him once he was released. You helped him when you could, and stayed even when you couldn’t. He didn’t lie to you though, he never asked you to leave. He just kept asking you to stay. So you stayed, you didn’t leave unless you needed to get clothes or groceries or go to work.
When he was finally back on his feet, you started coming over less. You tried to distance yourself because you didn’t know what would come next. You two never had any sort of conversation. You were unclear on where you stood now that he was on the mend.
So you packed up everything you’d left in the guest room. He was to the point where he could move and get around without anyone having to help him. He didn’t need you anymore. He wouldn’t want you here anymore. So you were fully prepared to leave and not come back.
“Where are you going?” he asked once you reached the door.
You were surprised you hadn’t heard the sound of his crutches on the hardwood floors, “Home, I guess.”
“But, I- why?”
“You don’t need me,” You shrugged, “I figured you’d want me to leave anyway. I’ve been here for almost two months.”
He hobbled a few more steps and stopped. You could see that he was deep in thought, but you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. But you could see that he was in pain from standing still and being on his feet for too long. You wanted to tell him to go sit down, but you couldn’t.
“I’ve liked having you here though,” He finally said, not looking up at you.
“Jeff, I’ve liked being here, but that’s not a reason to stay,” You tried to explain, “We both have lives. We should try to get back to them. We can’t keep living in this little bubble.”
You forced your hand to turn the doorknob, “I’ll always be just a phone call away Jeff, I promise. But it’s time we get back to real life. There’s plenty of food in the fridge, and that tea that you liked is in the cabinet with the mugs.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, watching you take a step towards the hall.
“I know you are, Jeff. I am too. But I still have to go.”
#Jeff Skinner imagine#Jeff skinner imagines#nhl imagines#nhl imagine#nhl fanfiction#nhl fanfic#nhl oneshot#hockey imagine#hockey imagines#hockey fanfic#hockey fanfiction#hockey oneshot#nicolewritesthings
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Conviction of Flight
Conviction of Flight
WhooooOOOooo! This is my first Sanders Side fanfic ever, so please be gentle with the critique, but I still love improving upon myself, so constructive criticism is welcomed! I originally got these ideas from other Sanders Sides writers like ravenleewriter and fluffymary, so I thank them!
Yikes this is bad… sorry.
Summary: All the sides have wings, except nobody knows that Virgil has wings, as he’s convinced the others that he doesn’t have them. With Deceit constantly pestering him and gaining more power from his lies, Virgil finally confesses and him and others discover that his wings are incredibly ticklish and use this newfound weakness as a “punishment” for lying.
[WARNING: THIS IS A TICKLE FIC]
[WARNING: SOME TRIGGERS]
Patton was making steak and cream-based broth that night, and despite knowing Roman would most likely throw a fit over the whole thing, Virgil couldn’t help but stuff his face once his plate was handed to him by the fatherly side. Patton’s cooking was just so good. The fatherly trait continued to cook the rest of the meal for the other sides who hadn’t shown up yet.
Patton’s wings poked out from his back, a light brown shade with teal blue at the tips. Feathers round and soft, like flower petals. Patton, himself, had resewn everyone’s clothing so they could be free with their wings after all of them had confessed they had them. All but Virgil, that is.
“Evening, Virgil.” Logan walked into the dining room, adjusting his tie and placing his hands together. “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind a small examination to figure out if we can aid you in your… absent aerial necessity.”
Virgil raised an eyebrow at the logical side, continuing to stuff food into his mouth and took a sip of his glass.
“H-he means… your missing wings…” Patton added hesitantly and the darker side nearly spit out his drink, eyes wide open in shock.
“I’ll take that reaction as a no then…” Logan sat down and started to neatly cut into his meat, trying to hide his slight disappointment. “It’s quite alright. I’m certain I’ll find another path to the goal.”
“But why is it a goal?” The purple-clothed trait asked.
“Well, it concerns me, is all. Doesn’t it you? It’s not normal for a side to be without wings when the rest of us are. All of us have wings.” Logan extended his own for emphasis, a sleek, black array of smooth, glistening, pointed feathers that shown a slight dark blue hue whenever the sun touched them.
“I’m a dark side… maybe I just don’t deserve them.” The darker replied before he could stop himself.
He heard a gasp come from behind him and knew Patton had that face. The half-panicked, half-hurt, expression that made Virgil die inside.
In order to save himself from that expression, he looked up at Logan instead, just to be met with a slightly shocked and panicked look on his face as well.
“First off, you are not a dark side anymore. Second, I feel- I m-mean… Look, you do deserve wings, Virgil. If I have to craft them, then so be it. All of us have experimented with flying, and I feel- I mean- … fine. I ‘feel’ that you of all of us are most deserving of that freedom.” Logan crossed his arms and starting thinking over his secondary goals in respects to the one on his mind currently.
“Y-you don’t really think that, do you Verge?” Patton whimpered from behind him.
“Patton, leave it be. He’s obviously not comfortable right now. Don’t push it.” Logan instructed and the fatherly trait in question turned back to cooking, Virgil not missing the small whimper that came from him talking about wanting to help.
“What reason is there to say I deserve wings?” Virgil challenged the teacher.
“Unlike The Others, you grew to make Thomas’s life better, and put a conscious effort into protecting him, even when our perceptions of you were still bias. If that isn’t a good reason, then Patton’s taught me wrong morality.”
Virgil sat to think about it for a little bit… should he tell them?
No. Not yet. He wasn’t ready.
“I am here, my beauties! ~”
Oh great.
“Greetings, Roman.” Logan sighed as he tried to focus and brainstorm, all while eating.
“Slouching again, storm cloud?” The prince approached the darker side to ruffle his hair playfully.
Virgil was feeling very vulnerable at this moment however, and shoved the prince away.
“Not right now, Princey. I’m not feeling well. Just let me eat my dinner in peace.” Anxiety’s voice got a couple shades deeper, causing the fanciful side to take a few steps back, hands raised.
“Wait… what happened?” He looked over at Logan who simply shrugged.
“How come something always happens while I’m not around?!” Roman huffed, sitting down next to Virgil and stretching out his own wings, amber with gold tips and a red shine as the feathers grew long and flowing, tipping upwards at the ends.
“Now don’t whine, Princey.” Patton scolded slightly. “Besides, I made steak!”
“Steak?!” The prince turned around excitedly but also saw the bowl of stew. “And cream-based broth?”
“Yeah…” Patton rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. “Sorry, I keep forgetting that it upsets your stomach.”
“It’s alright, Padre. I will endure the pain, since the taste is too good to resist! The curse will never be broken! And maybe… I want it that way.” Roman serenated overdramatically before sitting back down.
After finishing his meal at the unusually, awkwardly silent table, Virgil wordlessly left as no one made any attempt to stop him. He speed-walked to his room where he could finally take off his hoodie. His wings had been bugging him all night. Watching the others stretch theirs out and fiddle with them when he had to stuff them into his hoodie uncomfortably to keep them a secret. He was trying to find ways to get rid of them, since he didn’t believe he deserved to fly like the others. But Logan had proven a valid point… making him even consider telling the others, but he felt way too vulnerable. In his mind he was still Paranoia. Torturing Thomas and the others without ever being seen or heard. He slammed the door shut just to be met with a split-faced smirk.
Deceit.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Virgil immediately tensed as the snake-like figure chuckled. “My spell was supposed to keep you out!”
“Oh, your silly spell has certainly been a quite a challenge for me recently. Especially with my gained power from your lying. I should thank you for that. Lying to your new family. I thought you trusted them more than me, but now I see the part I raised in you…” Virgil plugged his ears, knowing what was coming by his tone.
“The part of you they’ll never accept. You can pretend all you like, but one, I’ll always do it better, and two, I’ll always know where you really belong. With your real family. And I think… the others see it too. Hurting them, getting angry at them. They only want to help you, panic child. But go ahead. Pretend they love you. Pretend everything’s fine. Pretend you’re not betraying them and that they won’t discard you when they figure out the truth. They’re growing suspicious of you, Para-”
“DON’T YOU SAY IT!” The anxious trait shouted at his former family.
“Hehehe… regardless of what you’re called. They’ll soon learn the truth. They’re going to be disappointed in you… Angry, hurt… oh just imagine you coming back to me on all fours, asking for shelter because you no longer have a place with the favored ones.” Deceit grinned madly; his snake eye glowing with power as Virgil started to give in to his taunts… what if he was right?
With a snap of the snake’s fingers, Virgil’s hoodie was off.
“Now, look at that mess.” The liar scoffed at the wings the darker side had been hiding. “By the way, I totally did that to relieve you of your strained position and not to potentially expose you to the others.”
Grey, uneven feathers. Some of them had been ripped off and some were severely damaged and bent the wrong way from being stuffed into his coat. His wings were a dark grey with purple tints on the edges, and red stains where the poor side had hurt himself, trying to get his wings off somehow.
“You don’t deserve them, and you know it. Your wings, and your friends.” Deceit absolutely soaked in the feeling of doubt and insecurity coming from the previously dark side as he fell to his knees, color draining from his face as his body began shaking wildly.
“Come tomorrow. You’ll have no one. Just an empty hole in your chest, with only yourself to blame.” As Deceit’s tongue lashed with his thick, deep voice piercing him, Virgil couldn’t take it anymore.
“SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP! I KNOW YOU’RE LYING! GET OUT! YOU’RE LYING! YOU’RE LYING! YOU HAVE TO BE! … you have to be…” The purple side’s power started to die as Deceit’s grew.
“Hey kiddo? What was all that yelling ab-” Patton walked in, just for Virgil’s room to be tainted yellow and a familiar figure being seen walking around a sitting, shaking, anxious trait.
Deceit turned and looked up at the fatherly side, who was now glowing red with anger. Patton had more power than Deceit and he knew it, especially when his anger was controlling his emotions. The snake was deceitful, but he never picked a fight he knew he couldn’t win.
“Oh darn… it looks like the fun’s over. Don’t worry though, the damage is already done. Good luck explaining your wings to them… See you soon, Virgil…” The snake slowly sunk down, Patton huffing infuriatedly before turning to Virgil.
It was then that the anxious side realized with a jump that his hoodie was still off, he couldn’t even try to start looking for it before Patton was on him. Hugging him and not letting go. The other two collected at the door and peered in with disbelief.
“Verge, what did he do to you?! A-and why do you have wings? Kiddo? Are you alright? Speak to me!” The fatherly trait’s panicked voice only made Virgil want to hide more, but he was surprised that he wasn’t mad at him.
“I-I-I don’t think I deserve them! I’ve been trying to get rid of them and act like they w-were never there!” Virgil forced out the best explanation he could muster, a waterfall of tears pouring down his face.
“But why?” Patton broke the hug and looked into his son’s eyes.
“B-because… whenever I look at them, and then look at all of yours… they just remind me…” The darker trait didn’t dare finish his sentence.
“Well, maybe I can help them remind you of something else?” Patton tried, but Virgil held up his hand.
“It’s alright. I’m going to be fine. I thought you guys would be mad, but… you’re not… It’s alright. It’s just… they aren’t… pretty to look at.” He sulked slightly.
“No, they’re not! Look at them! They’re beautiful~!” Roman suddenly spoke up as he walked over to the purple side. “This amount a smoothness? Are you kidding? They’re almost as good as mine! And that’s saying a lot!”
The prince glided his hands along the feathers, not expecting Virgil to suddenly jump.
“Ppffffhahahahahahaha!” Virgil squeezed his eyes shut as a fit of laughter overtook him, surprising the whole room and himself. He realized that he had laughed out loud and when he opened his eyes, the other three looked entranced by it.
There was a silence, and from the prince’s sudden grin and flash of mischief in his eye, Virgil knew he was screwed.
“Oh my gosh, peck. Are you ticklish?” The mood in the room suddenly changed as a flustered Virgil tried to spit out a “no” or even a “yes” or anything!
“Aww! I didn’t know my son was ticklish! You deserve to laugh a little more! Maybe help you forget about your worries!” Patton cheered before growing an uncharacteristically predatorial smile.
“Maybe think of this as a punishment for lying to us.” Logan joined the smiling party as they all placed their hands on the resident emo.
“N-no guys. I’m not ticklish- I- EEEEeehehehehehehehehehe!” All three jolted as Patton dug his hands into his son’s sides. “W-waihihihihihit! Plea- AAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Roman audibly gasped as his close friend fell to the floor on his stomach after a quick pinch to the joint where his wings met his back.
“Get his wings!” He cheered as he continued to massage the spot, following him to the ground.
“Will do.” Logan smiled as he joined Roman, tracing shapes in the pale skin.
“GUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUYS!” Virgil shrieked and threw his head back as he was overcome with laughter.
Yet it felt… good? Yeah… It felt good to laugh and forget his trauma just for a moment as the others tortured him ruthlessly. It made him feel like he could just, let go… He had forgotten the last time he had laughed this hard!
“Look at that face.” Roman pulled himself up next to the cackling side and cooed into his ear as Virgil scrunched up his shoulders from the tickly breath. “Red’s my color, storm cloud.”
“Aww, and listen to his laugh!” Patton added, making the poor lad snort and hiccup as he suddenly poked his sides.
“Tickling, although silly in the eyes of some, is known as a bonding experience and can potentially relieve stress and raise dopamine.” Logan spoke normally as if he wasn’t tickling Virgil to bits. “To be honest, this is a considerably fun activity. And so easy, as well!”
“Yeah! Wait- shouldn’t it be harder?” Roman suddenly realized. “Shouldn’t he be blocking us from tickling him?”
All three stopped their assault for a moment, letting their victim breathe.
“G-guhuhuhys?” Virgil looked up to see three faces staring down at him smugly. Why had they stopped so soon? He could’ve gone on for longer…
“Look at that! He looks so sad that we stopped!” Patton exclaimed and pointed at the purple side’s face, as if the other two weren’t looking.
“W-wha-?” In a moment, Virgil was tackled again. “Wai-! Gahahahahahahaha! Plehehehehehase! NahahahahahAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” His laughter grew hoarse as Logan slid his hands up the stems of his wings, raking his nails up and down over and over, driving him insane.
“GOHOHOHOD DAHAHAHAMIHIHIHIT IHIHIT TIHIHIHCKLES!” Virgil was trying his damnest not to fight back, or even utter the word ‘stop,’ the sudden change of mood making him feel happy for the first time in a long time.
“Hey! No cursing!” Patton scolded before blowing a raspberry on the trait’s side.
“EEEEEEHEHEEHEHEHEEEE!” The purple side kicked his feet out and rolled over, not being able to take the tickly vibrations that exploded over him like a firework of nerves being set off.
In his conscious effort to not fold up his wings, he accidentally expanded them out entirely, stopping Logan and Roman out of mere shock... and they were also kind of slapped in the face by the large wingspan.
When they took a look at what had stopped them from their tickly onslaught, they both gaped. With the wings fully extended, any small trace of light seemed to be absorbed into the feathered-limbs, making them glow an array of purples and disintegrating any grey that was there.
“They’re so breathtaking…” Roman uttered while gently tracing his fingers over the fully extended wings.
“It’s almost too stunning to process…” Logan added in the same awe-struck whisper as he did the same thing, reducing Virgil’s wild cackling to light giggles.
All three were careful not to hurt him, since they knew his wings had been damaged, but continued to poke, scratch and knead the glowing feathers, soaking up their beauty along with the resident emo’s laughter.
“Nahahahahahahahaha!” Virgil arched his back and wiggled back and forth but really made no attempt to get away from the tickling attack of hands.
Admittedly, he wasn’t laughing as hard with his wings being tickled, so Roman whispered an idea into Patton’s ear. Then Patton whispered it to Logan, all three silently nodded as the giggling boy beneath them remained unaware.
They suddenly plucked two feathers from their own wings. When Virgil looked up to see the three sides, each holding a feather in each hand, he knew his demise was near.
Roman rolled him on his side so Logan and Patton could get to his back easier and swirled the feathers around the shoulder blades, making the poor boy scream. Roman didn’t actually use his feathers, but resorted to blowing raspberries on both of his sides, going back and forth.
The actions seemed to flow so smoothly as if they had done this a million times before. It just felt as though everyone knew what to do.
But the raspberries, the feathers, the knowing smiles? It was all too much.
“OKAY! OHOHOHOHKAHAHAY! THAHAHAHAHAT’S EHEHEHEHENOUGH! I CAHAHAN’T-AHAHAHAHA! CAHAHAN’T TAHAHAKE IHIHIHIT! MAHAHAHAKE IHIHIT STOHOHOHOHOP!” All three pulled back to marvel at their work.
The purple trait lay with a wobbly smile adorning his face, the rest of the giggles coming out as he hugged himself and rolled around, tickled-stupid with tears of mirth trailing down to his chin.
After he had finally caught his breath, the other three hugged him simultaneously.
“We’re going to go flying tomorrow, alright kiddo?” Patton whispered.
“We’re so pleased at the thought that you have wings. It just means your one of us. No need to discard them.” Logan comforted.
“Hrrr… I’m jealous of their beauty.” Roman whined and admitted but didn’t break the hug.
They decided to watch a movie that night together. Patton had insisted they watch Rio, since it seemed fitting, and everyone agreed.
Nobody complained that night, except for the occasional grumble from Roman about how Virgil’s wings were more glamourous than his own. The warmth shared between the sides in this unspoken love for everyone in the mind palace was truly comforting to Virgil. And maybe if he would’ve opened up… he would’ve felt it sooner.
Of course, every once in a while, one of the other sides would sneak in a pinch to his sides or a slight massage to his back just to get him smiling, but Virgil wasn’t complaining.
At least they hadn’t found his absolute death spot yet… but that’s for another story.
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Of Outlaws and Family
Chapter Five: Rodeo Queen, Awakened
A/N: This is nothing but a random mission I decided might be fun; a way Scarlet can show Dutch that she can help bring in money, even if it seems silly to him. Just some general fluff and good times with Scarlet, her son, James, and some great fluff between Scarlet and Arthur! Buckle up cause it’s a loooooooong chapter! There’s lots of stuff goin on in this one.
Warnings: Cursing, typical gang violence, mentions of drinking, sexual references/innuendos, general dangers of rodeos (bull riding, bronco riding, etc), mentions of pick-pocketing, betting, mentions of bush whacking
Start here: https://marvel-redemption-omega.tumblr.com/post/620167374619951104/of-outlaws-and-family-chapter-one-new-beginnings
Last Chapter: https://marvel-redemption-omega.tumblr.com/post/620331349279145984/of-outlaws-and-family
Please enjoy! Hearts and repubs are appreciated!
My work is not to be posted elsewhere; I will post it to my AO3 and dA if I so choose.
Word Count: 14, 837
“Dutch!” Scarlet jumps off Shamrock and runs into camp with a piece of paper in her hand. Dutch steps out of his tent, cigar in hand as he raises a brow at her. “Dutch, oh, Dutch! You gotta see this!” She slows as she nearly runs into him, his free hand on her shoulder to steady her. He nods to the paper.
“What’s got you so excited? Find a treasure map?”
“What? Nah, something even better!” She shakes her head at his silly question. “No. Rhodes is hosting a rodeo!” She squeals, opening the folded paper, revealing a flyer for a rodeo.
“Darlin’, not to be a downer, but I just ain’t seeing why you think going to this is a good idea. Hosea and I are wanted men, we can’t just drop everything we’re working on to play rancher in front of people,” he scans the paper, taking it from her. Her happy demeanor deflates a bit before she’s smiling again.
“I get that. Look, I’m not sayin that ya gotta come out and be there, but there’s loads of opportunity for money! There’s cash prizes for fastest horse in a few categories, then there’s prizes for perfect scores, and even longest rides. At least for the bronco and bull ridin events it’s the longest time,” she quickly explains, trying to reason with the stubborn leader. He wipes a hand over his mustache, glancing between Scarlet’s puppy pleading green eyes and the flyer in his hand. He sighs.
“Stop with that kicked puppy look,” he reads over the flyer again.
“Dutch,” she calls, waiting for him to look back at her. When he does she smiles, “I know I can win several of the listed events. I’ve been ridin nearly my whole life. Bulls ain’t so different from broncs, just a bit wider and not as tall. I promise it’s worth it. Just let me go and enter an send your best pick pockets with me. There’s always loads of people at rodeos. Loads of rich, stupid, drunk people,” she persuades, watching his body language for signs of defeat. When he relaxes his shoulders she knows she’s won.
“Talk to the guys and see if anyone would be interested in any of the other events,” Dutch orders, holding up the flyer. “Mind if I have this to look over?”
“No, no, not at all! Take it, Dutch. I’m gonna go ask them now. Oh. Is, uhh, is Arthur here?” She asks, the excitement now drained from her voice. Dutch’s lips quirk a bit, knowing they were sweet on each other, even if they hadn’t noticed it themselves yet.
“No, Pearson asked if he could go hunting. We’re getting low on food,” he answers with a smile, pointing towards the back of the camp.
Scarlet takes his leave as dismissal and heads over to the cliff, looking into the valley below. Sure enough, Arthur’s got his bow out, creeping up on a small herd of deer. She scoffs as he draws the string back and lets it go. He quickly notches another arrow and manages to drop two deer back to back. “Show off,” she mutters to herself.
Scarlet’s in the middle of switching saddles and horses when James runs up to her, arms wrapping tight around her legs. “Mama! Can I go to the rodeo with you too? Please? I wanna see you ride the horses and a bull!” He begs, green eyes bright and pleading. She rubs his head, playing with his hair.
“Who told you bout that?” She asks, looking down at him. He grins and lets go of her to pet Fancy.
“Uncle John and Uncle Javier were talkin about goin an they mentioned you was,” he innocently replies, hugging the mare’s neck. Scarlet crosses her arms and rests her weight on her right foot, chewing her bottom lip.
“Maybe. It depends on who is going to be there, Sweetheart,” she finally answers, leaning over to ruffle his hair. He yelps in surprise and swats at his mother’s hands, running away from her. She laughs and finishes putting Fancy’s old saddle on her; leather worn and tattered from years of wear and rough riding. Fancy, knowing which saddle she was now wearing, tosses her head and paws the ground anxiously. “Easy girl, we’re headin out later,” she settles the old mare. James runs back up to her, Arthur following behind him. The cowboy gives Scarlet a curious look as he approaches, looking at Fancy’s saddle change.
“What’s with the get up? You running away already?” He jokes, gesturing to Fancy.
“Hah, as if. You an ol’ Dutch ain’t gonna just let me up an go,” she snorts at him. He wants to say something against her, but he knows she’s right. “Anyway, there’s a rodeo bein held in Rhodes. I figure since it’s in a few days, I’ll just head that way now an get a room, just stay at the hotel there so I’m not ridin any of the horses the day of,” she explains and walks with them back into camp. James runs off to Abigail and John’s tent, asking for Jack. Scarlet smiles at that, happy he has someone to play with, even if Jack is four years younger.
“M’kay, ya got us there. What’s a rodeo though?” He asks as she sits down at one of the tables, pulling a can of peaches from her bag. She slices the top and pries it up, stabbing a peach slice before answering.
“It’s a big event where people, usually cowboys and ranchers, gather to show their skills. There’s steer ropin, team ropin, bronc bustin, bull ridin, an a lot of other different activities. My Ma used to take Fancy to the barrel races. We ain’t had a horse beat her record yet. Least, not that I’ve heard. But she’s gettin old an I know Shamrock is a lot faster than she is, he’s just not as skilled. Where Fancy is elegant, Shamrock is clumsy. He takes his turns too wide. But he’s still faster than her time, even bein as such,” she explains, eating the peach from her knife. Arthur tenses a moment, fearful she’ll cut herself. She hums and offers him a slice, which he refuses.
“So what events are you going to be in, Miss O’Hara?” He inquires, watching her carefully so she doesn’t cut herself.
“Probably my usual; bronc bustin, bull ridin, barrels, an pole bendin,” She states matter-of-factly. Arthur hums out a positive affirmation. “Broncs have two categories, saddles an bareback. Saddled is easier because, well, you’re in a saddle. Bareback is obviously harder, like if you’re breaking a horse out in the country, no lead or nothing. They give you a riggin to hold on to, but that’s it. It’s basically a heavy rein. That’s all you get. The goal is to stay on for minimum of eight seconds; for broncs an bulls, but if you can go longer, the better your score an points.”
“So it’s a gatherin for stupid people, who pretend to be cowboys an ranchers, to watch other stupid people pretend to be cowboys an ranchers?” Arthur summarizes, smiling at her.
“Well now, I didn’t know you thought I was stupid, Morgan. Here I thought we made a pretty decent team!” She feigns hurt, stabbing another peach from the can. She maintains eyes contact as she bites the fruit from her knife, letting out a soft moan at the sweet taste. Arthur’s skin flushes a light pink and he coughs to clear his throat.
“I’d never! Weren’t talkin bout you, Darlin’. But that’s just how it sounds for the majority. I’ve seen you work, you’re the real deal,” he chuckles as she nods at his praise; she leans the open can towards him, holding her knife by the blade in offering. He rolls his eyes but takes both, eating a few slices before passing them back to her.
“Well in that case, will you ride with me? I don’t know if I wanna bring James but if you’ll be there I’ll feel better ‘bout him taggin along,” she admits, playing with her knife before taking out a green handkerchief to clean it. He studies her a moment, weighing his options.
“What’s Dutch think of you runnin off to do this?”
“Dutch? Aha, I swayed him. There’s good money in it if you win events. Ample opportunity to pick pocket old, rich, drunk bastards too,” she shrugs and tips the can to drink the juice. “So, Arthur, will you ride with me?”
“When you plan on leavin?”
“Probably this afternoon. I gotta go get Shasta. He’s good at the pole bendin. If you’re decent, we can sign up for the team ropin! We both ride our horse in the pen they have set up and have to rope a steer. One of us ropes the horns and the other it’s back legs, then we face each other and back our horses up so the ropes are nice and tight and it can’t get away,” she explains, slipping her knife back in its holster.
“You got me. I’ll go. Not sure if you want me in the competition, but I’ll ride wit’chu,” he agrees and nods. “Besides, I wanna see what this bronc bustin is. Seems like you’re real excited for it.”
“Oh I am, Cowboy. Bronco bustin is a favorite of mine. The wild, young stallions with too much spirit are my favorites,” she winks at him, getting up from the table. “You’ll need a new saddle if you do plan to enter any events,” she calls over her shoulder as she heads for her wagon to finish getting ready.
Dutch helps Scarlet onto her wagon, handing her back the flyer. She watches him silently, studying his expression. He looks up at her, taking hold of her hand.
“You do well to keep my boys in line, ya hear? Don’t let them go makin fools of themselves out there,” he prompts her, watching as she laughs.
“Keep’em in check and show’em how a real hustler works their magic, aye. I’ll do my best, but remember I’m actually in most the events. I wouldn’t worry too much though, I’ve got Arthur and that Silver Fox of yours, Hosea. I think with those two I can handle the rest. The girls shouldn’t be an issue, but I’ll keep an eye on them,” she squeezes his hand reassuringly as they lock eyes. “You have my word, Dutch.”
“Alright. You do well then too. Keep me updated on how things go. We’ll be waiting for your return,” he gives his approval as he lets her go.
Everyone ready?” She turns to the group in the back. Her eyes roam over the small group: John, Abigail, Jack, James, Javier, Tilly, Sean, and Mary-Beth.
“I think so, everyone’s here,” Abigail sends Scarlet a smile, arms secure over both boys’ shoulders. “They’re settled in for the ride.” The others nod their confirmation and Scarlet turns back to Dutch, tipping her hat to him.
“We ready?” Arthur joins her in the front of the wagon, taking the reins.
“Yeah, Daddy Dutch just gave us his blessing,” she winks teasingly at Dutch who crosses his arms.
“Very funny, Miss O’Hara,” Dutch calls as he steps back from the wagon, scoffing at her audacity. Molly gets up from his cot, moving to stand by him just outside his tent.
“You know you love me,” she hums, scooting closer to Arthur on the bench as she removes her revolver from her belt and sets it between their feet on the footrest.
“You be safe, Miss O’Hara,” Molly waves as Arthur cracks the reins. Shasta and Shamrock toss their heads and pull the wagon around the camp, weaving around the other tents and set up.
“Always, Miss O’Shea!” Scarlet hollers back, throwing a hand up in a wave as they head into the trees. She whistles and Fancy and the blood bay follow them from the hitching posts, both saddled up and ready to ride. Arthur slows them as they pass Sadie and Charles, Sadie turning over guard duty.
“Where y’all off too?” She pets Fancy who nickers at her, prancing in place.
“Rodeo is Rhodes. Ever been to one?” Scarlet leans over the side, one hand on Arthur’s leg to keep her tethered to the wagon.
“Acourse I’ve been to a rodeo. Need another rider for anythin?” Sadie asks, shouldering her rifle.
“You any good at Steer Ropin? Javier could use a good partner. I’m not bad but I’m not great either,” the red head admits. Sadie’s eyes light up as she nods.
“Yeah, I reckon I’m as decent as any man,” she claims, brushing the mustang’s mane with her hands.
“Run tell Dutch you’re coming with and hop on the blood bay there,” she invites the blonde, leaning back into the seat. The others whistle for their horses while they wait for Sadie.
The ride to Rhodes is a long one, even with a wagon. Scarlet enlightens everyone on all the activities and events at a rodeo, Sadie and Javier jumping in for clarification or to add something she forgot.
Sadie keeps an eye out for any raiders and makes sure Fancy, Boaz, Smoke, Ennis, and Old Boy are keeping up with the wagon. She keeps them calm and whistles for them if they ever are falling behind, slowing the thoroughbred to make sure they can find their way and to make sure the horses aren’t ambushed and stolen.
Scarlet makes sure she’s always touching Arthur in some way, be it her leg pressed up against his, her hand on his leg, her arm looped through his, or even leaning on him for a nap. He doesn’t mind, allowing it after a questioning glance the first time he noticed she was doing it.
“Here we are. Rhodes. You think they’ll be enough rooms for the lot of us?” Arthur glances at Scarlet then back to the small town.
“Dunno. I can run in an ask real quick. Wait out here,” she orders as she starts climbing down the wagon before he has it stopped. He yells after her, something about waiting for him to stop the horses before jumping off recklessly. She just grins as she lands in Fancy’s saddle. They wait patiently in the wagon until she rides back up, having to pull up hard on Fancy so she almost bucks to a stop.
“So what’d they say?” Arthur leans over the side, hand outstretched for her to take. She grabs his forearm, locking her hand around it as he does the same and pulls her up with a grunt.
“Said they got two rooms. I went ahead an rented one for the boys; Jack and James, and the other for John and Abigail. The rest of us can camp just outside of town here. That is, if that set up works for y’all?” She raises a brow at the group. They share looks as John and Abigail look at each other. She tilts her head to the left and her brows furrow.
“That’s fine, thank you, Scarlet. Jack can stay with us if you want the other room with James,” Abigail speaks up, running her fingers through her son’s hair. James looks up at his mother expectantly.
“You sure?” The red head inquires, motioning for James to move up to the front with her. He does so and sits on the side of her so she’s between him and Arthur.
“Yeah. We are a family after all,” Abigail confirms with a nod of her head. Scarlet nods and turns back to the front, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment. She points to the clearing back by one entrance of the small town, instructing Arthur to pull the wagon up there.
They all unload the wagon and pitch the small tents Scarlet pre-purchased, when she went to pick up Shasta, and brought along. Tilly and Mary-Beth take a tent, Sean and Javier take another, Hosea and Arthur in one, and Sadie gets her own.
“What are we gonna do for food?” Mary-Beth questions, clapping her hands together as Javier gets a small fire going.
“Arthur and I can go hunt. He’s not too poor a shot,” John volunteers, playfully jabbing at the older man. Arthur rolls his eyes and grins.
“Maybe we’ll run into your friends, the wolves,” he quips back, walking over to Smoke to retrieve his bow and rifle.
“On second thought-”
“Nope, you already volunteered. Let’s go,” Arthur grabs the back of John’s shirt, preventing him from trying to get out of hunting.
“You ain’t gotta worry bout wolves out this way. Just coyotes. But they’re more scared of you, usually,” Scarlet offers in partial consolation. He deadpans at her and she laughs along with the others. “Just sayin. Maybe you’ll have better luck havin a run-in with them.”
Arthur pulls John along with him until he shrugs him off to grab his own rifle from his horse. They walk through the fields, Arthur looking for tracks, scat, or fur. When they come close to the tree line they stop, several deer grazing along the woods.
“Let’s see if we can get two,” John whispers, pulling his rifle up to look through the scope. “There’s a buck scratching his antlers on a tree, you see him?”
“Yeah I see him,” Arthur sets his scope on the white coated buck John sees. “You wanna take him?”
“Nah, there’s another one a little ways down to the right. I’ll get that one. Just let me know when you’ve got a shot lined up, I don’t wanna be tracking these things all night if it’s not a solid kill,” John huffs and focuses on his buck. “I’ve got a clean shot.”
“Me too.”
Two gunshots sound, almost in sync. Sadie and Scarlet look up, eyes searching the source.
“Abigail, stay here with them. We’ll be right back,” Scarlet says and gets to her feet, Sadie on her heels. They quickly mount up, Sadie on the blood bay and Scarlet on Smoke, and head over to the field where the shots came from. Scarlet laughs as she sees John and Arthur hauling bucks over their shoulders.
“Let’s go help them,” she states, slowing Smoke from his gallop to a walk. He instantly obeys, making a bee line for Arthur when he sees him. “Good boy,” she praises him as he stops a few feet away from Arthur, neighing. He looks up at Scarlet in his saddle and raises a brow before tying the buck onto the back.
“Now where am I supposed to sit?” He chides playfully. Scarlet glances at John and Sadie, who are tying his buck on the back of the other thoroughbred, before slipping her boots from the stirrups and sliding her body almost completely onto the horn of the saddle. Arthur gapes at her a minute before chortling, putting one foot in the stirrups and pulling himself into the saddle. Once he’s settled, Scarlet sits back, sitting half on his lap and half on the saddle.
“See? There’s always room if you know how to double,” she tips her head back to look at him, green eyes bright with mirth. He shakes his head as he smiles at her, taking the reins from her hands.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he mutters. Sadie and John have a similar set up, though Sadie is sitting on the very back of the saddle with the deer behind her.
“Lucky an cute, I ain’t. Charmin an sassy, I am,” she replies and clicks her tongue, Smoke listening to her command.
“Oh, so now my horse listens to you?”
“For the most part. He’s such a good boy. I’m sure he’d do well in barrels or pole bending,” she expresses, leaning forward to rub the dark grey thoroughbred’s neck. “Ain’t that right? Yeah, you’re a good boy,” she cooes to him before straightening herself back in the saddle as best she can without rubbing against Arthur too much. “He was the closest horse to me. I thought you were using bows, not rifles. We wanted to make sure y’all’s a’right.”
“Aww how sweet,” he leans his chest against her back, breathing on her ear as he whispers, “you was worried bout me.”
“Shut up,” she rolls her eyes and pushes back against him. “Acourse I worry. I already told y’all, you’re my boys. Can’t let anything happen to y’all, I’m too emotionally invested. So’s the boy,” she chews her lip and holds onto the horn; she can feel the heat rise in her cheeks as she posts with him, moving in tandem with Smoke’s even strides.
Scarlet helps the two men skin and field dress the deer a bit away from camp before they bring them back to cook. Sadie pulls out oregano and mint from one of the saddlebags and helps Abigail get it cooking. They all chat idly around the fire, the boys playing in the mud.
The small group settles into a content silence as they eat, the two boys settling into the wagon to play with the dominoes, courtesy of Tilly, once they’re done eating. Sadie leans on the wagon, watching and smiling as Scarlet and Arthur sit with their boots knocking against each others.
“Hey, Scarl!”
The Irish-blooded woman looks up from her deer sandwich and tilts her head. Sadie waves her over and she frowns, wiping the bread crumbs from her pants as she stands up. She bends down, whispering something to Arthur who nods, and brings her food over to the wagon.
“You need something?” Scarlet asks the blonde woman, leaning on the wagon beside her, crossing her right ankle over her left. She pops the last bite into her mouth.
“Just wanted to ask about you and Arthur. What’s goin on there? You look like a love struck puppy,” Sadie teases, watching Scarlet cough, slightly choking on the food.
“What makes you say that?!” She starts, graciously taking the offered brandy and downing it. She stares at her friend, wide eyed and a little shocked at the bluntness of her question. “He’s a...he’s a good friend, a gentleman,” she states.
“Uh huh. That why you’ve both been sittin so close to each other an ridin together?” Sadie sasses, smile growing as Scarlet tries to find a comeback, unable to form a coherent sentence.
“Look, Sadie, he’s just a friend. Nothin more,” she sighs, playing with the empty brandy bottle in her hand. She tosses it under the wagon and uncrosses her feet, letting her back lean fully on the cart. “I have my son to think about. That’s my main priority.”
Sadie nods, acknowledging Scarlet, but keeps quiet. She knows that she’s pushed a little much but she got what she needed from Scarlet. Sadie pats her shoulder and gestures to where she had been sitting. “Go on, sit and talk. I’ll watch the boys.”
“Thanks, Sadie.”
Hosea looks up as Scarlet leaves to see Sadie. He smiles and turns to Arthur, setting his beer down. “Anythin goin on between you two that I should warn Dutch about? We ain’t gonna be worryin bout any mini Morgans are we, Arthur?” The silver fox asks, nodding to Scarlet when aforementioned cowboy looks up. Arthur nearly drops his beer in shock, spitting some of it out. He stares at Hosea like he’s crazy.
“Old Man, just what you on bout now? Ain’t nothin gon’ on between us. We’re just friends, she’s a decent outlaw of a woman,” he admits, swishing around the beer in his bottle.
“You sure bout t’at, Art’ur? You two seem ta be really close. Like, really, close. Weren’t she just in yer lap when you brought t’at there deer back?” Sean chimes in, tossing his empty bottle to the side and reaching for another.
“Yeah. We work well together, what do you want me to say?” Arthur asks, directing his attention to Hosea, completely dismissing Sean’s second question.
“That you are sweet on her, even if only a little? If you won’t be honest with us, at least be honest about it with yourself,” Abigail scolds, tucked into John’s side by the camp fire. He regards them a moment, nodding to himself.
“I care about her, just like I care about any of you,” he admits, watching as Abigail and Tilly frown at his words. He laughs as they throw blades of grass at him. “Okay, so maybe I like her a little,” he freezes momentarily at the looks the group give him collectively, “okay a lot more than I let on. An yes I am sweet on her, but she don’t want no part of bein with an outlaw..”
“Oh you let on more than you think,” John chuckles.
“Apparently, if you can see it,” Arthur retorts.
“Have you tried actually talkin to her about it, Arthur?” Tilly asks, setting her coffee cup by her feet. The outlaw scratches his neck, shaking his head.
“Bout what? Me likin her? Nah. She’s got James, an I guess his father is still in the picture. No need to involve myself where I might get hurt,” he sighs and leans back. He chugs the rest of his beer and motions for Sean or Hosea to pass him another.
“Why don’t you just ask her an see? I’m sure you’ll be surprised. You don’t see how she isn’t as happy an herself without you around camp. When Dutch asked her to stay and talk to him the other day? When you went into Valentine with Uncle and the girls? She helped us just fine but she didn’t really talk to anyone unless it was necessary. Well, she talked to Sadie an Abigail, and the boys of course. Everyone else she pretty much ignored. Dutch and myself included. Didn’t even bother to instigate with that O’Driscoll boy you brought back to Colter either,” Hosea reveals and hands him another bottle.
“Just...Oh, Arthur, just think about it will you?” Abigail pleads, hugging John’s arm tight as she stares at the older man. Arthur sighs and nods his head, throwing his hands up in surrender.
“Alright. I’ll think on it,” he pops the top off his bottle. He reflexively scoots over when Scarlet comes back over, taking up her spot beside him on the log again. Hosea and Tilly give Arthur a look and he rolls his eyes, sending them glares.
“Sadie said she’ll watch the boys for a little. I think I’ll take them to the hotel in a bit to get a bath before bed though, if that’s alright with y’all?” Scarlet nods to Abigail and John, offhandedly asking for permission.
“Oh, a bath sounds nice! Don’t you think, John?” Abigail croons, pressing against his side. He glances up at Scarlet who nods before he looks down at his wife.
“Uhh, yeah, sure. A bath,” John answers, scanning their group for a possible way out. He sighs and gets up, pulling his arm from Abigail’s hold before holding his hand out to her. “Shall we go take a bath, Abigail?”
Scarlet and Sean make eye contact and immediately “Ooooooh,” at the couple as they head away from camp. John turns back and drags his thumb across his neck and points to them before Abigail grabs Jack from the wagon and they disappear into the town. The Irish duo crack up and Sean hands her a whiskey bottle.
“To being free and not tied down!” He cheers and knocks back his drink. Javier, Tilly, and Mary-Beth follow suit, draining their drinks. Scarlet looks at Arthur and Hosea, offering her bottle and motioning to their own drinks in question.
“Y’all are married or were?” She speaks over the crackle of the fire, watching the shadows dance across Hosea’s face. The old man nods and leans forward so his elbows are on his knees.
“Once, a long time ago. My sweet Bessie and I were together for awhile. I stepped away from the gang for a few years, back when it was just Dutch, Arthur, and myself. Arthur, we picked him up when he was bout fourteen, fifteen. I don’t think he remembers her much, or me leaving. But as things always do, I drifted back into it. She knew what I was and how it went, but we somehow made it work. She passed away many years ago. I was drunk for about a year after,” Hosea clears his throat and takes a swig of his drink, eyes downcast. Arthur shoves up from the log and stalks over to the wagon, saying something to Sadie who joins them at the fire. Hosea sighs and pats Scarlet’s knee, motioning to Arthur with his bottle.
“Did I- is he okay?” She looks at Hosea with furrowed brows.
“He’s been through a lot. It’s not something you can just get over,” the silver fox explains. The trio watch as James leans over the side of wagon, tapping Arthur’s arm. The two seem to talk and Arthur strikes a match, lighting a cigarette. Scarlet squeezes Hosea’s hand that’s still on her knee, giving him a small nod of affirmation.
“I’ll talk to him. It’s not good to keep it bottled up...I know better than most,” she mumbles as she makes her way to her wagon.
She quietly climbs into the back with James. “Son, go sit with Mrs. Adler and Mister Hosea. I’m gon’ talk with Arthur a moment.”
“Yes, Ma. Bye, Mr. Morgan, thank you! I can’t wait to get home!” The boy cheers and clambers down from the cart, headed for Sadie. Scarlet takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out, climbing to sit sideways on the front, staring at the sunset with Arthur. They’re both silent, Arthur taking slow drags from his cigarette and Scarlet staring at the horizon, deep in thought.
“Wanna talk ‘bout it? I don’t know what I said to upset you, but I’m sorry,” she apologizes, voice soft. She turns her head as he snuffs out the cigarette on the bottom of his boot. He doesn’t answer, just leans on the wagon with his hat tilted down. She picks at her jeans, worn with age and often wear. Arthur turns to her, hand gently resting on hers, stilling her fidgeting.
“It’s a long story, Darlin’. Maybe some other time. And it’s not what you said, it’s what they did,” he finally speaks, voice gruff as though he were on the verge of tears.
She immediately opens her arms as she slides down from the wagon seat. Arthur takes her up on her offer, wrapping his arms around her as she does the same. He buries his nose in her hair, inhaling her scent and trying to calm his racing heart. They stay like that, Scarlet wrapped tight in his arms with her hold on him just as tight, her breathing helping slow his as he tries to sync his frantic beating heart with her steady one.
“We have three days, and you know where I sleep,” she comments, chin resting on his sternum as she looks up at him. He pulls back a little to look down at her.
“I know. You’ll be in one of them rooms at the hotel,” he replies, dipping his head a little. “Forgive me fer askin, but what room numbers?”
“Why? Plannin on payin me a midnight visit?” She teases and steps back as he finally lets go of his hold on her. She hesitates in letting go, but her arms eventually slip from around his ribcage.
Scarlet startles awake, glancing around the room as she momentarily forgets her bearings. She sits up as the same sound repeats, a trio of knocks on the door. She grabs her hunting knife from her belt that’s draped over the dresser. Sleepily, she makes her way to the door, trying to stifle a yawn. She unlocks the door and opens it, knife poised in her left hand, hidden behind the door.
“Arthur?” She yawns, relaxing and ushering him inside. He ducks his head in embarrassment as he steps into the room, minding to be quiet when he sees James asleep on the bed.
“I uhh, I was wonderin if you wanted to talk?” He asked shyly, taking a hesitant seat on the bed when she gestures to it, slipping her knife back in its holster.
“Come, come. Lay with us an we’ll talk,” she offers, climbing back into the bed, scooting close to James, leaving enough room for Arthur to lie down to her left. He goes to protest but her sleepy glare has him taking his boots and jacket off.
“You said it’s not good to hold these things in so I figured that I’d tell you,” he starts, slowly crawling up the bed, lying on his side to face her. She pulls the blanket up to her shoulders, tucking it under her left arm as she faces him.
“It’s not, and I’m not pushin you, Arthur. If you don’t wanna talk about it, you don’t have too. I’ll sit here with you in silence if ya want. No promises I won’t fall asleep on you though,” she yawns again as she curls her legs up. He nods and relaxes back against the wall, holding his arm up for her to scoot in and cuddle.
“Like I said, it’s a long story. Might as well be comfortable,” he informs her when she gives him a puzzled look. She laughs lightly and nods, moving closer to him, resting her head on his chest, left arm resting on his shoulder. He pulls her left leg over his waist, fixing the blanket after he does so, letting his hands rest on her lower back and on her left calf, holding her leg in place over him.
“Take your time,” she encourages, moving her left hand to cradle his head, scratching at his scalp with her nails. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as he tries to figure out where to start his story.
“Like Hosea said, he and Dutch ran into me when I was young. I was a delinquent, rough and wild as they come. They took me in and taught me what they knew, even taught me to read. I’ve been with them for nearly twenty years, maybe more. But I had a girl once, we weren’t married but I did get her pregnant. A nice waitress I met, Eliza. She gave me a little boy, Isaac. I told her I couldn’t promise her a good life, she seemed to understand. I’d send money and every few months I’d stop in for a few days to see them, spend some time with them, yanno?” He lets out a shaky breath. Scarlet nods against him, her hand in his hair slowly tracing patterns on his scalp to try and calm him.
“If it’s too much, you ain’t gotta talk ‘bout it,” she whispers, tilting her head to look up at him. He looks down at her, green eyes filled with concern for him. He shakes his head and squeezes her calf.
“One day when I rode up, I saw two crosses outside the house, one smaller than the other. It didn’t take me long to figure out they were robbed. All for ten dollars,” his tone is laced with venom as he spits out the last sentence, face scrunching in anger momentarily. Scarlet stays silent as she tries to think of what to say. She knows loosing someone you love, or even just care for deeply, isn’t easy. She tells him as much.
“Look, we can’t keep living in the past, wishin things were different. They’re over an it’s not like we can change them, no matter how bad we wanna. I know. I’ve tried. Ran myself into the ground for years while riddled with guilt that wasn’t mine to bear,” she soothes, her right arm curling about his own under her. “Be sad an mourn them, yes, but don’t allow that to cloud yer judgement an prevent you from doin things. Especially if it’s somethin ya really wanna do.”
It’s Arthur’s turn to be quiet, letting her perspective sink in. He nods and rubs up and down her calf soothingly, meeting her eyes once again. She’s smiling and he can’t help but smile too as they stare into each other’s eyes for a few moments.
“I guess you’re right. Hey, I’m sorry about earlier. Just stormin off like that; it wasn’t fair to you. It’s not your fault they brought it up. Sometimes it’s hard to imagine me even having the chance to have that again,” his voice cracks as he holds her a little tighter, a little closer to him. She pauses scratching his scalp and sighs, nuzzling against his chest.
“To have that closeness with someone again? Yeah, me too,” she softly admits between yawns. Arthur moves his hand from her hip to her head, holding it against his chest as he presses a kiss to the crown of her head. She lets her eyes flutter close as he gently starts to rub her back.
Scarlet doesn’t remember falling asleep, or waking up at four in the morning either. So the surprise of waking up in Arthur’s warm embrace shocks her a little. She’s up before James, which is another surprise to her; she immediately turns over and gently shakes Arthur, whispering softly to him to prevent startling him.
“Come on, Arthur, get up,” she croons, gently shaking his shoulder. He turns his head and grumbles under his breath in his sleep, arm moving to wrap her up. His eyes flutter open as something blocks his arm from his cuddle buddy.
“What the?” His voice is rough, riddled thick with sleep. Scarlet subconsciously licks her lips as she hears it, eyes darting to his lips before back to his face. She huffs out a quiet laugh at his slightly confused expression.
“Mornin, Cowboy. I think it’s best you go get ready for the day, James’ll be up soon and then we won’t hear the end of how you were ‘sharin a bed with Ma at the rodeo’,” she muses in delight, hand tracing lightly over his chest. She’s made no effort to even dislodge herself from his hold, despite her claim for him to get up.
It’s about ten minutes of them idly talking before Arthur finally slips from the bed and pulls his boots back on, telling her that he was going to check on the others. He’s closing the door as quiet as he can, trying not to wake James, when a gasp behind him startles him.
“Arthur Morgan!” Abigail scolds lightly, quietly; eyes wide as she glances down at Jack. Arthur’s gaze meets hers and he half shrugs at her.
“What?”
“I know I did not just see you coming out of Scarlet’s room,” she grits out as she stares at him hard, eyes cutting through him. “Not with James in there.”
“Jesus, Abigail! No. I came by to talk to her, ‘at’s all. I, the others...Last night a few of them drank to “being free and not tied down”,” he explains as he shuffles awkwardly under Abigail’s scrutinizing gaze. She nods and opens the bedroom door for Jack to go back in to wake up John.
“It brought up Eliza and Isaac, didn’t it?” She lowers her voice, tone softening greatly. Arthur nods and brings his hat to his head, adjusting it to his liking.
“Yeah. Yeah it did. I told her. I told her about them, about it all,” he voice is barely a whisper, gruff, the start of almost tears evident. Abigail nods and moves to him, resting a hand on his shoulder, leaning up to kiss his cheek.
“I’m proud of you. I know that’s not easy to talk about. Just stay honest with her. Did she say anything about James’ father and his role?” She changes the melancholy subject, stepping back a couple steps.
“No. We just talked a bit bout Eliza an Isaac. She didn’t bring him up,” he replies softly, eyes warm as he meets Abigail’s. “I’ll ask her later, she’s getting ready. I’m gon’ make sure everyone else is up and ready for the day.”
John steps out of the room, pulling his coat on. “Let’s go then.”
By the time John and Arthur make it back to the tents, everyone is up and they all share glances before smirking at them. Arthur groans and points at Hosea.
“Not one word. I was talking with Scarlet and Abigail,” he states before anyone can ask him anything. They shrug and make room for him around the fire, passing the coffee pot around.
Scarlet, Abigail, and the boys join the rest of them not too long after, both boys running towards Hosea. They show him their books and sit on either side of him as he offers to sit and read with them. Scarlet’s heart melts at the sight, wishing James’ father was willing to be as accepting as this gang. She’s done her fair amount of research on Dutch and his gang. As far as she was concerned, they were nothing like what the papers and people were saying. She trusts them with her life.
“What’s the plan for today?” Javier asks as he passes Scarlet the pot for coffee. She thanks him and pours herself a cup before taking up the only available seat, beside Arthur.
“Mm they should have everything set up by tonight. Which means they might start the events tonight or tomorrow. Regardless, I figured we could go take a look at the bulls and broncos they have for the events. If I remember correctly the townsfolk said that they were bringin in bout five different broncs and at least three different bulls,” she replies and looks around at the people she’s slowly started calling her family. She smiles, her eyes lingering on Hosea with the boys, their laughter drifting over to her.
“Have you signed up yet?” Sadie sits down at Scarlet’s feet, leaning back on her legs. Scarlet looks down at her and shakes her head.
“No, not yet. They won’t let us sign up this early, and from my experience I have to have a man with me vouchin that he’s my guardian or partner and he expresses his permission for me to participate,” she rolls her eyes and cradles her coffee mug in front of her face, blowing on the steaming liquid.
“What?” Scarlet turns to Arthur, John, and Javier at their outburst; they’re all looking at her in disbelief.
“You didn’t tell us that,” Arthur raises a brow as he sets his now empty coffee on the ground. “Why?”
“Didn’t think it necessary. If y’all wouldn’t’ve come with me I’d’ve just done what I always do. Pinned my hair up and pretended I was my brother,” she smirks, shrugging at him. “No need to bug anyone if y’all woulda had better things to do.”
“Oh, Sweetheart, if you’d ask I bet any of the men at camp would have gone with you even if Dutch had told you no,” Abigail laughs. The men all look at each other then away, rubbing their necks at being called out. The females giggle at them and Scarlet nudges Arthur’s knee.
“I know at least two would, the others I’m not sure about,” she teases back, stealing a glance at Arthur who quickly looks away when their eyes meet. He clears his throat and claps his hands on his knees.
“Well, are we going to go see how far they’re set up?” He suggests as he pushes up from the log, holding a hand to Scarlet. He pulls her up and the rest of them follow suit, Jack and James jumping up when they see everyone else heading towards them.
Scarlet leaves them a little bit after they’ve checked out the last pen, excusing herself by stating she needed to get dressed for the event. James gives her a hug before she goes, telling her to wear his favorite of her outfits; she smiles and agrees, giving the others a wink as she heads back to the hotel.
By dusk, everyone is ready to watch Scarlet compete. They are cheering her name as the announcer calls out all the competitors, hers being the last one since she was the last to sign up for each event. In the end, Hosea had been the one who went with her to register, saying she was his daughter to compete for him since he was too old.
Arthur has James on his shoulders, Jack on John’s, as they make their way over to the fence, letting the boys sit on the top post. Abigail and the other women head off to try their luck at pick-pocketing people, not too interested in the competition until it’s Scarlet’s turn. Hosea leaves the two men with the boys, going to place bets on Scarlet for the bronc and bull riding, with the money she gave him to do so.
James whoops and throws his hands up as Scarlet rides out on Shasta, the stallion bucking a little with the other competitors. Jack cheers and claps along with Arthur and John. They competitors ride around the pen, waving to everyone before being huddled in a circle.
She’s dressed in a black, long sleeve top with red fringe down the arms and along the sides and on the front, across her chest with matching black chaps, also with red fringe down the outside seam of the legs. She’s wearing the hat Arthur bought for her too, black boots with silver spurs completing her look. Arthur stares.
“Alright! Is everyone ready?” The rodeo announcer yells loud enough to silence the crowd. They all move closer to listen. “We’re gonna be startin off with the Broncs! Saddled then unsaddled! Then bull ridin followed by steer ropin! We have our bronc riders here, so give them all a warm welcome!” He cheers and runs from the small platform he’s on to discuss rules and terms with the bronc riders.
Afterwards, the group of eight, Scarlet included, turn their horses and trot out of the pen. Scarlet walks Shasta over to her group and slides from the saddle, hitching him to a nearby tree. She braces herself as James and Jack barrel into her. She laughs as they hug her legs and James mumbles something about not ever saying ‘I love you’ enough. She silences him with a hug and kiss to his temple. She ushers them back over to the fence and joins them on the top post, Arthur leaning on it and towards her as they wait her turn.
“Oh! There goes O’Malley, at five seconds in! Not long enough to make the cut, unfortunately!” Arthur tunes out the announcer and clears his throat, nudging Scarlet’s thigh with his shoulder.
“Nice getup,” he comments, side-eyeing her. She tips her hat back and looks down at him, hands resting firmly on the post to steady herself.
“Thanks. It was my mother’s; back when she used to race Fancy. Red and black are our lucky colors,” she replies, turning back to the ring to watch the next competitor. He’s thrown, right out of the gate, and they laugh.
“When are you up?” Arthur asks, hand playing with some of her fringe. She glances at him, her dark wash jeans peeking through the sides of the chaps.
“I’ll be last since I was the last to sign up. I’ll need to go to the other side after the next couple of guys get tossed though,” she explains, pointing out the small area where they rodeo hands where locking the horse back in. “They’re doing unsaddled first, which is good and bad. Good that it’s out of the way, bad because they’ll know they’ll have somethin to hold on to other than just the riggin.”
“Which is easier for you?”
“Unsaddled or saddled? They’re both pretty easy if you know what you’re doin. Breaking horses is easy, you saw my skill when we broke those thoroughbreds,” she smiles and pushes against his arm with her leg. “Just watch, relax, an enjoy yourself here. Hosea go make bets?”
“Yeah, I think he said he was going to place some on you,” John answers, helping Jack off the fence. “We’ll be back, Jack’s gotta piss.” Scarlet waves at them, fringe dancing as her arm moves, turning back to Arthur and James.
“James, wanna go see the bull I’ll be riding later?” She asks, wrapping her right arm around his shoulders. He eagerly nods up at her and grins, eyes bright.
“Can I?”
“Sure. We’ll go once I’m done with these two events, alright?” She kisses his forehead and hops off the fence. “I reckon I best get over there before I get called out.” She starts to head back to the other side of the fence. She doesn’t get far.
“Wait, Scarlet!” Arthur grabs her hand and tugs her back into his chest. He grins sheepishly down at her and pulls out a red neckerchief that coincidentally matches her outfit. He ties it around her neck and nods. “For good luck,” he prompts. Her fingers brush over the soft fabric and she smiles up at him.
“Thank you, Arthur. I’ll keep it as a reminder that we, together as one, broke six horses in a matter of twelve hours,” she chuckles as she starts walking backwards, her spurs jingling with each step. Arthur watches her as she spins on her heel and gets ushered to the other side of the corral by some rodeo hands.
“Ma likes you, ya know, Mister? I haven’t seen her smile like that in a few years,” James hums as he glances at Arthur.
“Yeah? You think?”
“I know. I overheard her one day, talkin to Papa Dennis, sayin she didn’t want to bring any new guys ‘round me,” he lowers his voice as the next rider climbs over the small fence to get on the horse. “She’s gets sad when I go stay with Pa; I see it in her eyes. They fought once; I remember it scared me. I hid under the table with Frank, my Pa’s dog. Pa said somethin bout me livin with him an Ma said no, that if he wanted that he would grow a pair an stop listenin to his family an what they say bout her; come live with us if he really wanted that. Pa left that night, I don’t know where. He made Ma cry before he left though. I found her in her bedroom, cryin on the floor. I don’t know what Pa did, but it made Momma cry. You’re not gon make Ma cry, are ya?” He looks up at Arthur, same green eyes as Scarlet’s staring back at him. The man sighs and clears his throat, patting James on the back.
“Son, I don’t wanna make your momma cry. That’s the last thing I wanna do,” he assures the boy. He lifts James back onto his shoulders when the boy asks, holding his knees. “You see your Ma?”
“Yeah! She’s climbin the gate now! Look!” James squeals in excitement, tapping Arthur’s hat lightly and pointing across the pen to where Scarlet was slinging herself over the top post, her red fringe and neckerchief standing out in the moonlight. She scans the crowd on the other side of the corral and smiles as she meets her son’s green eyes staring back at her. She lets her gaze travel lower to lock eyes with Arthur, his face scrunched in slight disdain before he notices she’s staring at him. He grins then, waving with one hand.
James holds one of his hands up, signaling his mother to do the same. She grips the rigging tight in her left hand and throws her right hand up just as they open the small gate. The bronco jumps out of the gate, agitated and bucking high. Scarlet grips tight to the rigging, shifting her weight with the stallion. He rears before starting to run, then quickly turning in small circles in hopes of throwing her off. Scarlet laughs and coos to the horse as he continues to thrash.
“Eight! Ten! Twelve!”
Scarlet looses her grip on the rigging and gets bucked onto the bronco’s neck. She curses as he immediately rears and she hits the ground. She jumps up and runs over to one of the two men on horses and he pulls her up, bringing her over to the far side of the pen, letting her climb onto the fence and out of harm’s way. She nods to him and walks over to her group. “That’s seventeen seconds folks! Miss O’Hara takes the unsaddled bronco event!”
“Are you alright?”
“That looked like it hurt!”
“Do you need to sit down?”
“Momma! You did great!”
“You’re not hurt are you?”
Scarlet motions at them to calm down, rolling her shoulders and neck. James taps on Arthur’s shoulders, signaling he wants to be put down. He obliges and the boy runs to Scarlet; she kneels down and catches him in a hug that has her stumbling back a bit. Their laughter sparks happiness in the rest and they relax, joining in the affair.
“I’m alright. I’ve been bucked harder. Still don’t think there’s anythin worse than bein treed or fenced though,” she scoffs, letting James go.
“Treed? Fenced?” Hosea asks, warm smile on his face. “What’s that?”
“Oh uh, basically where the horse can’t get you off by bucking so their dumbass runs into a tree or fence; headfirst, skids and slides you into it, or anythin like that,” she explains and brushes the dirt off her outfit.
“Sounds painful,” Arthur muses. She nods and tips her head up at him.
“Well, congratulations. I just won the bet on you for this. I said you would at least stay on for ten seconds,” Hosea smugly states, patting his chest where he has the money hidden. Scarlet chuckles and shakes her head, nodding to the pen.
“You’re welcome? I didn’t expect them to use the same horse for all eight of us. Normally they let us see which horses are in the line ups and change from each rider or after a coupe.” James tugs on her sleeve, looking between her and Arthur.
“Momma you said we could go see the bulls!” He reminds, bouncing in his boots. Her nose scrunches in thought for a moment before she clicks her tongue.
“You’re right, I did. Come on, we can stop by the barn and check on Fancy and Shamrock,” she suggests and leads the small herd of people through the crowd that’s slowly gathering, people calling out congratulations and some throwing slurs. She brushes them off.
Scarlet takes a deep breath before she climbs up the fence to get on the saddled bronco, a mare this time she notes. She exhales and slings herself over the railing and into the saddle in one quick movement, gripping the heavy, lead lead she’s passed.
Her heartbeat is in her ears, the sound of the crowd -some cheering and booing- slowly fades as her heartbeat slows with time. The gate opens and she hangs tight to the lead, moving and adjusting quickly in the saddle. Her eyes focus on mare’s ears, pinned back as she grunts and snorts below her.
Everything rushes back to her as the mare rears and yanks her head back, nearly smacking Scarlet in the face. Luckily she snatches the reins to the left and quickly adjusts her position in the saddle. The mare spins quickly, attempting to bite at Scarlet’s foot, though she just pulls them back.
The mare finally charges the fence, slamming her side into it. Scarlet lets out a whimper as pain shoots through her right foot as the mare leaps to the left, away from the fence. Scarlet’s pulled from the saddle, her foot caught in the busted fence post. She can hear the announcer saying her time, but it’s fuzzy and she doesn’t catch how long she was actually on for. One of the men on horses’s pulls up beside her, leaning over to help lift her up. She holds herself on the back of the saddle as the man and a few audience members lift the post. She lets out her breath, not realizing she’s holding it, and slips from the horse, laughing as she’s helped through the fencing to Arthur and John.
“Christ, you okay? Sit down,” Arthur barks, forcing her to sit on the ground as he lifts her right leg, gently poking and prodding. She raises a brow at him and laughs, grabbing his hand. She moves it to her thigh where she can already feel a bruise forming.
“My foot is fine, my boot was just caught in the angle. It’s my upper thigh here she caught on the actual post. Fuckin mare, fenced me,” she swears, breaking out into a giggle fit as she leans back, lying on the ground. Hosea walks over and drops her hat on her chest, shaking his head.
“Twenty two seconds, you fool. You could have been severely hurt, why didn’t you get off before she ran you into the post?” He scolds, fear and concern heavy in his tone. Scarlet pushes up to rest back on her elbows, looking up at him.
“Didn’t know she was gon’ fence me. My adrenaline was up and I lost touch with reality,” she admits with a shrug. Arthur helps her to her feet and walks with her back to the gang, John and Hosea trailing behind. She can barely make out John telling Hosea that he couldn’t be too mad because she won yet another round.
Sean’s somehow manages to convince almost everyone to drink with him. Scarlet refuses, saying she needs to be fully focused on staying on the bucking bull since they’re unpredictable. Abigail declines and reminds him she has a son to watch, which in turn makes Arthur refuse as well, motioning to James. Hosea suggests he hold onto the money and things they rest of them have pick-pocketed before they get drunk. They readily agree. Sadie and Javier agree to one drink, reminding them of their steer roping event.
Arthur stops Scarlet before she can begin to climb the gate to get on the bull. She turns in his arms as she holds up a hand to signal she needs a moment, thinking something was wrong with James. He leans down, hands resting on her hips, and brushes his lips against her ear, whispering softly. “Good luck and please be safe. This one looks awful mean.” His warm breath fans down her neck and she shivers, hands subconsciously moving to rest on his forearms.
“Yeah, a’course. Always,” she smiles brightly at him, pulling away when the hands tell her she can either get on the bull or forfeit. She pauses as she’s straddling the top rail, sending a wink to Arthur before dropping down onto the dark bull. Arthur can hear the snorts and heavy hooves beating the ground as the bull tosses its head, its horns waving wildly.
Before he can yell at her to not to go through with this, he sees the gate open one last time. The bull jumps straight up before trying to use his horns to knock her off. She looks like she’s struggling and falls to the side of the bull. She yelps in surprise and yanks herself back up, enraging the bull. He bucks and whips his body to the right, throwing her over his left shoulder. She grunts as she hits the semi-packed dirt.
The bull bellows angrily at her and stamps the ground, kicking dirt up under his stomach and tossing it to the side. She rolls to her feet, snatching her hat, and makes a beeline for the fence as the bull charges. Three men in bright, silly looking outfits yell and distract the bull just long enough for Scarlet to slip out through the fence rails, rolling onto her back at Arthur’s feet.
Her chest heaves as she tries to calm her racing heart and even her breathing, her lungs trying to recover from the spasm of being thrown so hard. Arthur kneels over her, back of his hand running along her cheek gently.
“You good?” He inquires and scoops her up in his arms. She nods, her breathing slowly evening out. He sets her on her feet as they approach their friends. They have their bedrolls, Scarlet presumes from their tents, and are sprawled all out on them; the only sober ones being Abigail, John, Javier, Sadie, and Hosea. She giggles and takes an opened bottle John offers her, chugging the last bit and tossing the bottle to the side. Jack and James are curled up together in the middle of the group, both fast asleep.
“That’s the last event for me of the night. Tomorrow will be the others. If y’all don’t mind, I think I’m gonna go get a bath and go to bed. Hosea, did you get my time for this one?”
“Eleven seconds,” the silver fox replies, nodding to her. “You placed third this go round. I still won some money from betting. Some people were counting you out, I told them you’d be in at least the top three,” he preens as she congratulates him on being able to press his luck on her skill.
“That’s fine, I’ve won two. The barrels will be another victory, pole bendin maybe. I haven’t worked Shasta on it in awhile, but he’s really raring to go, or he was when he saw them earlier,” she comments, leaning on Arthur as she yawns. “But I think it’s bed time. Make sure they all make it back to their tents, could ya? They might get looted just laying about out here like that,” she gestures to the slumped group of people, all in one big cuddle pile.
Arthur lets her go as he picks up James for her, despite her protests. John grabs Jack and they all head back to the hotel, Hosea staying behind to wake the others and have them move to their temporary camp.
The duo couples say goodnight to each other and Arthur helps Scarlet get James into bed. She watches as he tucks her son in, something in her stomach fluttering. She clears her throat as he walks up to her, resting his forehead on hers. She watches his face, his expression.
“Stay?” She breathes as his hand comes up to cradle her cheek in his warm palm. She grips the front of his shirt and pleads, the need to be comforted a little too much for her at the moment. Arthur opens his eyes to stare at her, nodding and gesturing to the wardrobe against the wall. Scarlet releases his shirt, going to change from her rodeo clothes and into a soft, cotton night gown. She climbs into the bed by James as Arthur takes off his gun belt, bandolier, boots, and hat, back still turned to her from when she was changing, before joining her. He sits against the headboard, rubbing her back as she cradles the pillow under her head.
When Arthur believes Scarlet is fully asleep, he slips from the bed, pulling his boots and gear back on. He glances back at them, Scarlet rolling over to face where he just was lying. He smiles when she pulls the pillow close to her as she settles back down, closing the door quietly behind him. John’s leaning on the wall in the hall, lighting a cigarette; he offers Arthur one. They step outside and glance towards the group camp, each taking slow drags, neither speaking.
Arthur snuffs our his cigarette when it’s short and nods to John who glances back at the hotel. He heads to the camp while Marston makes his way back inside to his and Abigail’s room. Arthur crouches and flops down on his bedroll, letting out a low groan. Hosea turns to face him, sitting up slightly.
“You’re not stayin the night again?” His tone is teasing, but there’s a real question in his words, watching the man he considers a son. Arthur shakes his head and undoes his gun belt and removes it and his bandolier again, setting them off to the side. He lies on his back and rests his hat over his eyes, a sign he doesn’t want to talk about it. Hosea respects his choice and lies back down as well. “Goodnight, Son.”
“Night, Hosea,” he mumbles from under his hat. He rests his hands on his chest, fingers laced together as he crosses his right ankle over his left.
Scarlet sends James into Arthur’s tent, talking softly with Hosea. They watch as the boy attempts to sneak into the tent, successfully tossing the gun belt and bandolier out of it and also out of Arthur’s reach. They hear Arthur yell as James presumably jumps on the poor, unsuspecting man. Scarlet laughs as her son walks out of the tent triumphantly, Arthur’s hat on his head. It’s too big and falls into his eyes but he merely upturns his face and beams at his mother.
“I got it, Ma! He missed when he tried to get it back. He tripped on the bedrolls,” the boy laughs, running behind Scarlet as Arthur emerges from the tent. Hosea smiles and pats Scarlet’s shoulder as he goes to get coffee.
“Mornin, Arthur,” she greets as he gets closer, she’s dressed in her rodeo gear again. She’s even got the neckerchief around her neck. His lips quirk up at that.
“Was that your idea or his? Sending your spawn to wake me?” His question is playful, sending a faux glare to James who only laughs louder and hides completely behind Scarlet.
“Both? Mine was to steal your hat, the waking you up was just a bonus,” she smiles at him, hand going behind her to rest on James’ shoulder, pulling him to her side and out from behind her.
“Well, he’s lucky I like him, his Momma too,” he teases, winking at the boy. James puts a hand on the top of the hat as Arthur lunges for him. Scarlet sidesteps as the man wraps his arm around her son and tickles him. She watches in amusement as James’ squealing laughter resounds around their small camp, making everyone stop and turn to them. Jack runs over and pulls on Arthur’s arm.
“No, no, stop tickling James, Uncle Arthur!” The younger boy cries, tugging harder on his arm. Arthur stops his assault on James and picks Jack up with his other arm, tickling him instead. James tries to catch his breath as Jack takes his place. “Not me! Uncle Arthur!” Jack squeals, laughter falling from him in waves. Arthur cedes his actions and sets the boy down, crouching and ruffling Jack’s hair before the boy runs over to Abigail, smiling.
The mothers share a look and Scarlet turns to James, nodding her head to Arthur. James takes the hat from his head and holds it out to the man. “He’s so good with children,” she comments. Abigail nods, eyes shifting from Scarlet to Arthur, smiling.
“Yeah, he is.”
“Here’s your hat back, Sir,” James says as Arthur straightens from his crouch. He takes his hat and smiles down at him, patting his shoulder with his free hand. He puts his hat back on and walks with James back to the rest of the group.
“We’re down to the last two events of the rodeo! First up we have pole bending! In this event, a horse and rider must run the length of the six posted poles, weavin between them, turn sharply around, run the length back weavin back through them,” the announcer calls as a non participant demonstrates how it’s supposed to be done correctly, though not as quickly as it’s to be done..
Scarlet is in the barn, triple checking Shasta’s saddle is tight enough so it, nor she will fall or slip off. The Buckskin nickers at her, bobbing his head in anticipation. She ties the excess strip of leather through the ring on the saddle and makes sure it’s tight. He paws the stall door as she turns and reaches into her side bag. She pulls out a carrot and Shasta’s ears prick forward, snorting at her as he sniffs at it.
“Ready, Shasta boy? I know I ain’t ridden you in awhile but let’s see if we can’t beat our time of eighteen seconds!” She encourages the large animal. He nibbles the end of the carrot and she rolls it so he can have the whole thing, palm flat as he takes it from her hand. “Good boy. Let’s go,” she takes his reins in hand and leads him out the stall and out to the corral with an opening.
“Y’all ready?” Arthur calls as Scarlet steers Shasta over to them. She nods and pats Shasta’s neck, clicking her tongue. He tosses his head and rears as she jumps into the saddle.
“Yep. This is a timed event but it’s more for how fast you can be, not how long you can stay on like the other three,” she explains as Shasta drops back down to all fours, pawing the ground restlessly. She shushes him and makes sure the knot in her reins are tight before resting it on the horn.
“Good luck, we’re cheerin fer ya, Lass!” Sean calls with a wave, headed over to the fence to watch. Jack, James, Arthur, and Abigail stay with her for a moment.
“Be safe, don’t scare us no more like yesterday!” Abigail scolds lightly, joking underlining her tone. Scarlet just tips her hat with a grin.
“No promises,” she replies and clicks her tongue, urging Shasta towards the opening where the other riders are waiting on their horses. James and Arthur follow beside her. “Happy birthday, James,” She leans down and presses a kiss to his cheek before sitting back up, gripping Arthur’s forearm before letting go as Shasta starts prancing in place. “Okay, Boy! Easy,” she soothes and spins him a few times before he trots closer to the group of five other riders.
They share stories of previous rodeos, their horses, and how for a couple of them, it’s their first time participating in this event. The other veteran riders try to give tips and tricks to get a faster time, Scarlet listens but doesn’t comment. She knows exactly how she and Shasta need to run this to get a good time. It helps that he’s got excess energy he needs to burn off.
Before Scarlet knows it, she’s the last one up. She walks Shasta to the opening, hesitating a moment. Her body language shifts and Shasta pins his ears forward, letting out a loud whinny as he rears. When he pulls his front feet down, he shoots with the power from his hind legs, jumping from the rear to propel himself forward. She holds his reins tight, restricting his head movements. “Faster, Boy! Faster! There ya go! Wait until we turn!” She cheers him on, timing her turn just right. Shasta spins on his front hooves, quickly spinning and weaving back through the six poles. Scarlet lets him have his head, the reins slack. He kicks up sand as he crosses the opening again, tossing his head with a neigh.
“Sixteen seconds!” The announcer shouts in disbelief, double taking at his platinum pocket watch. Shasta holds his tail and head high, snorting as he passes by the rest. Scarlet pats his neck, rubbing him down.
“That’s my boy!” She praises, letting him celebrate with the light trotting he’s doing. She laughs at his personality, shaking her head good-naturedly. “I gotta go get Fancy saddled, Shas. Let’s go.” The stallion prances his way back to the barn, heading straight for Fancy’s stall. The mare gets to her feet. She nickers and takes in the prancing Shasta, tail flicking around.
Scarlet slides off the Bucksin and ties his reins to the post by Fancy’s stall, quickly undoing the buckle and pulling off his saddle, setting it on his stall door. Fancy straightens her head when she sees the old brown saddle Scarlet reaches for on the hitching post.
“Ready for some barrels, Fancy?” She inquires, unbolting the stall. Fancy pushes it open and walks out, turning so her left side is facing Scarlet, watching her rider intently. Scarlet laughs and grabs her halter, pulling her head down to give her a kiss on her nose. “You’re more than ready, ain’tcha?” She lays a black and silver blanket down on her back before hefting the saddle over the mare’s back. Fancy stands patiently as she gets saddled, nipping lightly at Scarlet’s arm when the saddle is a little tight. Scarlet immediately loosens it and adjusts her stirrups up a little more.
She grabs the matching bit set and slips it over her ears and into her mouth, over her tongue without issue. “Let’s go girl,” she coos and walks the mare out to the group who have packed up their camp and are waiting with the wagon by an empty spot off to the side of the corral, Smoke and Shamrock harnessed in it.
Hosea approaches her on Silver Dollar, informing her that they’re ready to leave when she’s done with the event and collects her winnings from the previous day’s events and if she has any after the barrels. She agrees and climbs into the saddle, having to immediately hold back on the reins when Fancy tries to dart into the corral. She apologizes to Hosea and watches as the second rider runs into the corral and starts around the barrels. They’ve all gone to the left side first, she notes.
She’s waiting with Fancy at the opening when the fifth rider runs out, cheering his Thoroughbred. Scarlet pets Fancy’s neck and murmurs encouragement, giving out all the slack on the reins for Fancy.
The mustang darts up the middle and cuts to the right barrel first, whipping herself around it so close that Scarlet’s knee knocks into it. Just as soon as she’s there, she’s crossing to the left barrel, cutting diagonal slightly to round the farther side and turn left. She’s as close as on the first barrel, Scarlet cursing as she feels her knee make contact again, though the barrel doesn’t move. Fancy dashes back to the center and up to the farthest barrel, cutting around it from the right to the left, spinning her weight on her front hooves, shoving off and booking it back out the corral, snorting.
“Folks! That concludes the Rhodes rodeo! Please standby for a few moments while we tally the times here for the barrels, as well as the overall score from yesterday and today! Feel free to look around at the broncos and bulls we brought and talk with the participants,” the announcer states, the man leaving his post to go meet with the timers.
“Yes! Who is my good girl? You are, Fancy!” Scarlet cheers and drops from the saddle, leaving the reins on her neck as she grabs her horse’s halter. Fancy tosses her head as best she can without yanking away from her rider then nuzzles her face into Scarlet’s chest, nickering in delight. She leads the mare to her wagon, tying her to the back and thanking her friends as they congratulate her on her time as well as giving praise to Fancy, their excitement warming her heart.
“You didn’t knock over any barrels! It looked like you almost hit them,” Javier states, helping her into the back of the wagon to join the party. She leans against the side, one leg hanging off the back as she sits up.
“Oh my knee knocked them, no doubt. But the closer you get, the faster you can turn. It also helps that Fancy knows how to throw her weight to her front legs and whip her rear around. I’ve found that makes us turn a lot easier and a lot faster,” she replies, ruffling said mare’s mane. She snorts and turns to look at Shasta, who Arthur’s leading over. His saddle just resting on his back, not tied. “Well look at you, Cowboy. Didn’t think he liked anyone else save for James. How’d you manage to untie him without him bitin you?”
“A couple of the other riders were in the barn. I heard them sayin somethin about your horse and I found them plannin to make off with him. Or try to anyway. He didn’t like them more than he doesn’t like me I reckon. Ain’t that right, Shasta?” The stallion tosses his head and nudges Arthur, a silent request for him to walk closer so he can stand by Fancy. Arthur obliges the horse and ties him next to Fancy, climbing onto the other side of the wagon, mirroring Scarlet’s seated position. “Apparently they were mad you won the bronc events. By the sound of it you have the last two in the bag too.”
“Here’s to hopin then. My poor boy, those mean people wanted to steal you?” She croons to her stallion. He nickers and rests his head on her leg, nibbling at the boot of her bent foot. She giggles and brushes a hand down the piece of mane on his forehead, scratching behind his ears with her other hand. “Wanna go see with me?”
Arthur nods and slips off the wagon, holding a hand to help her down. She clicks her tongue twice and Shasta takes a few steps back, pulling his head from her lap. James crawls over Sean and Javier, much to their dismay, and jumps down, grabbing his mom’s hand.
“I wanna come too! Where we going?” He looks up between the adults, smile wide and eyes bright. Scarlet nods, happily agreeing, happy her son wants to go with her. Arthur sweeps his arm in front of him, smiling at James.
“After you,” he states, falling into step with the mother and son. They walk back to the corral, joining the small crowd that’s gathering around the far end where the announcer and timers are.
“Alright, is everyone here? Can everyone hear me?” There’s screaming and yelling from all around before it goes quiet, not even the crickets being heard. “Alright! For the fastest pole bendin and barrel racer, we have Scarlet O’Hara!” The announcement causes cheers to break out among the women and some men, the rest grumble or flat out boo the result. “Alright, alright! That’s enough. The winner for overall best time for all events is...Scarlet as well! Mrs. O’Hara, please come up here!” Scarlet and Arthur glance at each other at the mention of ‘Mrs’ but she shrugs it off and makes her way up to the front, James trailing behind, still holding her hand. Arthur hangs back a little before following and standing near the front, deciding it’d be best to be close if something breaks out.
“Is there anything you’d like to say? How did you stay on the broncs so long? How’s that mare of yours so fast?” The announcer floods her with questions, the crowd yelling they want to know as well. She smiles and shrugs, gently pulling James close to her.
“My mare, Fancy was my Ma’s horse. My Ma used to barrel race her too, so she knows how to race. The broncs were easy, it’s just like breaking a horse; a very angry an agitated horse. If you’re new to rodeos, you want to try your hand at breakin a couple horses, be they young ones you raise or wild ones you catch. Time yourself,” she suggests as she accepts the money stacks from the announcer, thanking him. “Thank you, Rhodes! It’s been fun,” she concludes and steps away with James. Arthur’s at her side in a heartbeat, hand on her elbow as he leans in.
“They’re watchin us. Let’s leave on the horses so they don’t follow the wagon back. We’ll put James on the wagon,” he whispers to her, draping his arm over her so to the onlookers it looks like he was praising her. She nods and puts James in front of them, telling him he’s going to ride back with Uncle John, Aunt Abigail, Jack, and the others.
When they reach the wagon, Scarlet quickly unties Shasta and Fancy while Arthur hoists James into the back, ordering him to stay down and close to the front. He explains the situation to the others who nod in agreement. Hosea, John, Javier, and Sean are to keep lookout; John and Abigail to drive back to Horseshoe Overlook while he and Scarlet lead any followers away from them. Javier and Sean climb on their respective horses, guns on their backs and loaded. Scarlet quickly saddles Shasta with the help of Sadie, using Arthur’s saddle, putting her saddle in the wagon. Sadie climbs onto the blood bay and rides on the left with Hosea. Scarlet turns Shasta for Arthur.
“Climb up-”
“You want me to ride Shasta?”
“Well, Fancy’s not one to listen to males, but if you wanna ride her, be my guest. Smoke is harnessed in with Shamrock, so it’s not like we can take them. We don’t have the time to switch Smoke for Shasta,” she sasses and throws the reins over both horses. Arthur sighs but nods, pulling himself onto Shasta’s back. She climbs on Fancy and leans close to Hosea, slipping him the last of the prize money she received. “Hold on to that til we get back?”
Before he can answer she’s pulling Shasta where the rein meets his halter, making him walk despite wanting to run and buck the unusual weight off his back. They watch and wait patiently until the wagon is out of sight, Scarlet turning to Arthur.
“Ya sure he’s not gon’ buck me?” He asks as he notes Shasta’s pinned back ears and light prancing.
“No, he won’t,” the stern reply is meant for Shasta, who flicks his ears forward before pinning them back again. “Don’t make me ask Fancy to have you behave, Shas,” she warns. Fancy lifts her head and stares at Shasta, almost as if waiting for him to disobey. The standardbred snorts in defeat and flicks his ears forward. “Good boy. Get used to Arthur an his weight. He might be ridin you for awhile dependin on this situation,” she adds, letting her horses know they might be needing to run. They both neigh in response and paw the ground, awaiting orders.
“We good?”
“Yeah, should be. Try an give him a command. Get him walkin,” she suggests and leans her forearms on the metal horn. Arthur squeezes his thighs against Shasta, clicking his tongue as he’s watched Scarlet do numerous times. Shasta snorts in annoyance but walks around Fancy for him. Scarlet praises her stubborn horse and reaches over to pat him as reward.
“Keep being good to Arthur an I’ll get you somethin nice,” she promises, turning Fancy to ride out the other side of town and around. “Arthur, keep close. There’s raiders in Lemoyne here and they don’t care who or what you are. An be ready to run at a moment’s notice. That’s all the chance we might have if ambushed. Shasta knows to go to Valentine if anythin happens. Fancy will go to camp first to see if anyone’s there then Valentine. She’ll cause a ruckus an get attention drawn to her if anythin happens to me. I also have a special whistle I use for her if I can’t speak. If I go down, get back to camp. Don’t try to rescue me, leave an come back with reinforcements,” she whispers as they ride through the town, both observing their surroundings.
“I’m not leaving you,” he grunts at her, looking at her to see her staring at him. She sighs and nods.
“Fine. Fire fight it’ll be if anythin does go wrong. But I warned you,” she points a finger at him before urging Fancy to a gallop. Shasta prances to the side a moment before riding beside Fancy at her pace, tossing his head.
The duo are just about at the Lemoyne line when two riders come on either side of them, riding too close for comfort. Fancy nickers in warning and Shasta snorts, kicking a little as the rider forces them to ride closer, Arthur and Scarlet’s knees rubbing as they ride.
“What are you two doin out here? You lost?”
“Hey, ain’t you that pretty lady who won a few of the events at our rodeo?” One of the two riders questions, leaning over close to her. She shakes her head and frowns, shifting her weight just enough for Fancy to catch her unspoken command.
“No? There was a woman who won events? That’s new,” she feigns innocence, stealing a glance to Arthur who clenches his jaw. She taps Shasta’s shoulder with her knee, a silent order for him to follow Fancy’s lead.
“Nice try, but there’s not a lot of ladies wearing black chaps and shirts with red fringe,” the second rider sneers, both raiders drawing their guns.
“How’s ‘bout you just give us your winnings for protection in Lemoyne?” The first rider offers, switching his reins to hold in his left, the same hand he’s holding his gun with. Scarlet nods and reaches into her shirt, pausing momentarily as shock and fear passes across her face.
“It appears I’ve already been robbed, fellers,” She lies and squeezes Fancy’s sides twice and the mare kicks out to her left, hitting the horse and making it collapse, causing the raider to fall and be rolled over. Shasta kicks to the right at the same time Fancy goes left, hitting the second raider off his horse completely.
“Run!” Scarlet orders, spurring Fancy and giving her her head. Arthur kicks Shasta and the Buckskin bucks for a second before charging after Fancy; his strides long, catching up to the mustang in no time.
They cross from Lemoyne back into New Hanover and Scarlet sighs, urging her horses to gradually slow up when their breathing becomes labored. Arthur shakes his head and turns to her.
“What the hell was that?” He asks, patting Shasta. Scarlet blows a raspberry and turns to make sure they’re not being followed.
“Lemoyne county Raiders. Bunch of right bastards they are. Unfortunately they’re a group that, I believe, fought for the south and they won’t put the past behind them; continuing the rebellion with kids they pick up. A bad lot, though not as bad as the O’Driscolls,” she answers, petting Fancy. The two horses toss their heads and snort, Shasta trying to pull the reins from Arthur’s hands. “Oi! Cut that out,” she swats Shasta’s ear when he tries to grab a rein again, startling him slightly so he prances away.
“I’ve got him. I’m not gettin thrown by the likes of him. I’ve dealt with worse,” he shrugs as he adjusts the reins so there’s less for Shasta to potentially get a hold of. Scarlet nods and they make their way back to camp, enjoying the other’s company.
“Hey! Who goes t’ere?” Sean calls out, gun ready to fire.
“It’s just us, ya Irish twat,” Scarlet calls back, accent coming out a bit. Arthur laughs lightly, covering it as a cough. They hitch the horses to one of the hitching posts and Scarlet makes an attempt to find Hosea; Dutch stops her with a whistle. She feels her face heat up as she turns to Dutch.
“Well what do we have here? Little miss rodeo queen?” He teases, holding his arms open as though he were presenting her like a prize. She rolls her eyes and nods slightly, smiling at him.
“Somethin like that. Did Hosea already talk to you?” She tries to change the subject, hoping he doesn’t want too much detail.
“No, why? Did somethin happen?”
“Wha-? No! I uhh just gave him the money I earned from the events I won an he won the majority of the bets placed against me to win. I was just gon’ give you half, kinda as a thanks for helpin me an takin not only myself but my son in too,” she quickly reassures the leader, eyes downcast. Dutch nods -she can see his shadow on the ground in front of her- and smiles, clapping her shoulder.
“That’s my girl,” Dutch praises, taking out a cigar to smoke. Scarlet giggles and shakes her head, bringing her gaze back to meet his.
“I’m not your girl. I don’t belong to anybody,” she quips, stepping back from him. “But I would like to change so holler if you need me,” She excuses herself.
#red dead redemption 2#van der linde gang#dutch's boys#dutch van der linde#hosea matthews#arthur morgan#john marston#jack marston#abigail roberts#tilly jackson#lenny summers#charles smith#javier escuella#sadie adler#uncle#bill williamson#reverand swanson#leopold strauss#simon pearson#susan grimshaw#sean macguire#kieran duffy#josiah trelawny#scarlet o'hara#james o'hara#arthur morgan x ofc#arthur morgan x scarlet o'hara#molly o'shea#mary beth gaskill#karen jones
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Sky’s the Limit
Merry Christmas, @smolspreest !!
From your Secret Santa, @ravenclaw-craftsgirl
Base synopsis: Skye Parkin and Fen Fledgling. Y4
The stands were roaring in anticipation as Skye raced down the pitch, Fen by her side smacking away the bludgers and opponents who came too close. The rings were in sight as Fen lagged behind slightly to give her teammate an opening. Skye readied for the shot as a bludger started racing for her.
Fen’s eyes widened as seconds slowed rapidly, the play by play of the bludger as it grew ever closer. Fen gritted her teeth, her body moving without thinking as she raced forward-
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The pitch was calm. Fen grinned, returning to the pitch after a rather bland summer. The small girl grinned mischievously under her scruffy pixie hair and bandages. A lot of the first years looked at her worried, seeing this crazy person with short, choppy white hair grinning like they’re ready for a murder. Fen didn’t pay too much mind as she went to her beater club with another Gryffindor. She did a few test swings to regain her bearings with the club when she saw Skye walk out onto the field with the other two seekers. Fen was so enamored that she almost didn’t see that she was about to club her fellow beater over the head. “Sorry!”
Penny, Tonks, Rowan and Lilian were sitting in the stands with their books as they waited to watch the practice game. While only Penny was the diehard fan, the whole group had come out in order to help support and cheer for Fen and Skye as they went through their practices. Murphy was with them in the announcers box as the scrimmage started. The group watched, waiting to see what Fen was up to, then collectively clenched their teeth when they saw she was playing the Beater position. This usually didn’t end well…
Fen got ready, double checking her gear and her teammates gear before mounting up. She missed this feeling, the feeling of near weightlessness as she slowly climbed up into the air. Madam Hooch flicked open the Quidditch chest, releasing the Bludgers and the snitch before throwing the Quaffle in the air. “Begin!”
Skye was the first to snatch the Quaffle as the friendly started, already with Fen’s side on the offensive. Fen took the cue as she zoomed nearby, making sure to keep an eye out for any of the two Bludgers as her teammate held back with the seeker and the other chaser. Skye and the Captain rushed forward, keeping the quaffle in between them as they made their way to an early goal. Skye passed the Quaffle to the captain as she raced forward, drawing the attention of the opposing chasers and Goalie. The play was so quick, Fen almost missed it when the captain scored a ten point goal. Skye circled around flashing a quick, cocky smile to Fen as she went back to her position. Fen had to make extra sure she had a gip on her broom to stop herself from swooning over that. She still had a scrimmage to win…
~~~~~~~~
The match was rather short by normal standards. Fen sighed as she hung up her robes in the locker when suddenly she heard footsteps behind her. She turned to see her friends from the stands standing there. Penny and Murphy were beaming, Tonks grinning her usual grin and Lilian standing there with Rowan books under their arms. “Great match, Fen! That was an amazing play, how you bashed the bludger into the opposing beater, his teammate beating it straight back to you, only for you to react and bash it back again, the bludger crashing into the opposing seekers broom making them dizzy…” Fen sighed and ruffled McNully’s hair. “I was there, McDorky. Come on, how’d I do?”
Murphy frowned and straightened his hair back up then went back to smiling. “76.8 percent certain that you’ve gotten all of your maneuvers down pat. Just a few more matches and i’m sure you can raise it to 80 percent.”
Penny, Tonks and Lilian laughed while Rowan frowned. “I still think that she’s got her maneuvers down 80 percent of the time and can improve to 85 percent, unlike mr. Stingy here.”
Fen grinned as she watched her two friends bicker and argue. Total ravenclaws, those two. Fen walked over to Penny, Tonks, and Lilian while the two started arguing techniques and broom woods. “So how did I really do? Without the fanfare, just cold analytics.”
Penny looked to Lilian, who smiled and adjusted her glasses before lowering her books and handing Fen a sheet of paper. “Oh come on, Lil! Reading? That’s so booooring. Can’t you just tell me?”
Tonks frowned. “Yeah Lil! How come you always stay so silent! Tell us how she did! Cause frankly all quidditch looks impressive.”
Lilian smiled and nodded. “Bien, I’ll explain. You could stand to increase your reaction times and work on core and upper body strength. You know, since you’re the Gryffindor Beater and all. Maybe work more on that while you study?” Penny smiled and turned to Fen. “And the way you and Skye synergize! It’s so amazing seeing you two working together on the pitch. It’s like you two are linked together.”
Fen could feel her cheeks and ears start to grow hot at the idea of her and Skye being together. Argh! If only Fen could just go out and say it, that she wanted to be with Skye…
“Hello? Fen, you still there?”
Fen snapped back to reality, still standing in front of the three. “You kind of blanked out there, Fen.” Tonks stated while waving a hand near Fen’s face.
Fen nodded, shaking her head before taking a breath. “Oh right, I need to meet up with Skye. We’re gonna grab butterbeers together.”
Tonks and Penny looked at each other, their faces brightening up immensely. “You two are dating?!”
Fen was rather startled at their unified question/ expression of joy. “N-no, not yet. I don’t even know where to begin…”
Mcnully grinned. “Well, even if you aren’t dating, there’s a 79.37% chance that Skye would make the first move in the relationship.”
Tonks groaned at Murphy’s analytics while Lilian looked to Penny and shrugged. “Maybe we can work something out. We’ll let you know when we have a plan available.” Penny said as she started to take Lilian and Tonks away.
“Wait, what? Penny I never agrEEE-” was all Lilian could say before being dragged away with Penny, leaving Fen alone, confused and slightly worried.
It’s always a bad sign when the rowdy girl is worried.
Fen walked into the Three Broomsticks to see the place busy as usual. Madam Rosemerta smiled to the short girl as she made her way to the usual table. “I’ll have your usual in a little bit, hon. Just give me a bit to deal with these orders as well.”
Fen looked around and didn’t see Skye around. She was starting to worry a little then turned to Madam Rosemerta. “Mind if I help a little? I’m waiting on someone anyway.”
The smile that Fen received was all the confirmation that she needed before she started walking around the tavern and giving out drinks and food alike, dancing among the patrons as she easily performed her tasks.
Fen was at the last table taking orders when she looked up to see Skye. “Hey there stranger.”
Fen nearly squeaked, fumbling her notepad around before catching it. “Oh hey, Skye. Gimme a sec and I’ll have our butter beers out.”
A few moments later, Fen sat with Skye as they started talking quidditch and classes. But there was a nagging feeling in Fen’s stomach. Yes she obviously liked Skye, but what if she didn’t feel the same way? Like as nothing more than a friend? Why was Fen all of a sudden nervous to be around Skye?
“Oi, Fledgling? You ok, you were spacing out.” Skye asked. She smiled at Fen, with that heart melting combination of concerned, kind and beautiful. “Do you need to take a breather? We can talk outside if you like.”
Fen and Skye stood outside, silently enjoying each others company. “Hey, Skye? What would you do…”
Skye turned to Fen, raising an eyebrow. “What, maneuvers? Well I suppose I’d want a good partner to watch my back. Everyone on the team needs to be in sync. Trusting each other.”
Fen sighed, her heart suddenly low. She was hoping that Skye would want to talk about something else entirely. “Yeah I suppose. I enjoy being a beater on the Gryffindor team.” They soon began passing the time talking about quidditch, but Fen’s heart just wasn’t into it as much as usual.
The next day, Fen sat in the courtyard with Rowan as they went over O.W.L materials and such. She went over the test answers as she absentmindedly ate her sandwich. Rowan looked over and frowned. “Fen… Hey Fen? FEN!”
Fen looked up suddenly, startled by Rowan raising her voice. “Yeah?”
“Are you feeling okay? You’re starting to eat your charms book.”
Fen looked down in her hand to see the medium sized book in her hands with the sandwich still on its plate. “Yeah I’m good, I'm just kind of… Out of it? I dunno how to feel right now. The next quidditch game of the year is soon and I wanna tell…”
Rowan leaned in closer, intrigued by her friends statement. “Tell what? Perhaps a certain someone how you feel before you’re whisked away to your family for the winter holidays?”
Fen’s face started to turn a light shade of pink. “How long have you known?”
“Since Lilian told me at the last quidditch game.. Which should really tell you something.”
“Wait even Lilian knows?! But she’s like… The worst with relationships out of all of us! Just behind you actually, uh… No offence.”
Rowan raised an eyebrow. “Well I would think that the title of ‘worst with relationships’ should be yours now, considering how you haven’t even attempted to try and ask Skye out.” Rowan leaned back on her arms, books neatly stacked to the side. “Besides, You’ve been so focused on quidditch that you’ve hardly hung out with me or the rest of our friend group. Ben’s apparently less of a coward now.”
Fen sighed. “Sorry, I’ve been kinda busy.” She the jolted up. “Did you say that Ben was less of a coward?”
Rowan nodded.
“As in ‘Our Ben’. Ben Copper?”
Another nod.
Fen whistled. “Guess I need to find something other than ‘the Brave one’ of our group.”
The two started to pack up, heading towards their charms class to take the O.W.L assessment. “Hey, Rowan? You’re smart yeah?”
“Considering I was sorted into Ravenclaw and have near perfect marks? I would hope so.”
“Alright miss smarty pants. How would you go about telling someone you liked them? Like in a special way?”
Rowan walked silently for a bit, thinking to herself before smiling. “I got it. Let’s ask Tonks!”
Fen almost stumbled. “You’re serious?! But … It’s Tonks though!”
Rowan grinned as she waved to someone. “Yeah and?”
“The girl who thinks the smell of Dungbomb is amazing and pleasant.”
“And she’s the girl who knows how to push people’s buttons. She’s perfect!”
Fen groaned, but went along with it as Tonks trotted up. “Wotcher Row! Fen! Ya need anything?”
After a short discussion, Tonks nodded her head. “I can help you out after your next quidditch game. I’m gonna need some help though, seeing as how Charlie keeps avoiding me for some reason. Really, it was only one botched spying operation on our friends! One and all of a sudden he doesn’t want to do any more.”
Fen frowned and swallowed hard. She had to do something before this got out of hand.
The weeks till the game shrank into days, Tonks and Rowan trying to help Fen tell Skye the secret…
Fen doubted that Tonks’ plan would work, more so with how soon the game was. She was struggling with what to do so much that she hadn’t noticed Skye walk up behind her.
“Pre-game jitters? I know how those go.”
Fen shrugged to the person. She hadn’t bothered to look up.
“What’s up? You’re like the beacon for spontaneous energy and good vibes. You’ve been… Off lately.”
Fen sighed. “I dunno.” She said to whoever was next to her. “I’ve been trying to figure out how I feel about Skye Parkins.”
“Good things I hope.”
“Oh my goodness yes. Everytime I see her on the pitch or just smiling… It’s crazy but Every time she’s happy, I’m happy. Even when everything is going wrong, she makes it better.”
“. . .”
Fen smiled and stared at her hands. “I honestly dunno what to do. I wanna tell her how important she is to me but… I don’t know if she’d accept me.”
“Well have you ever asked how I felt?”
“Well I-” Fen stopped and looked up to see who she had been talking to. “A”
Skye smiled. “If you’re having second thoughts on those feelings, how about a wager. If we win the next Quidditch match, I’ll take you out on a date.”
Fen stared dumbfounded into those emerald eyes. “... Huh?”
“You heard me, Fledgling. I hope that’s incentive enough.” were her final words as she smiled and walked away.
Fen sat there a good ten minutes, still staring at where Skye had went, mortified that she had just poured her heart out to the girl of her dreams.
“Now I wish I’d had some popcorn to watch that show.” Tonks said as she, Mcnully and Lilian poked out from an overly large Invisibility cloak.
“Told. you. 79.37% chance that Skye would make the first move. She hates being behind others, no matter the activity.”
“Fair enough, Murphy. I owe you ten galleons when we get to the common room.” Lilian responded. Tonks just stood there grinning. “Well? You better get going! You’ve got a match to win!”
Fen was still trying to process all of these emotions when her body started moving on its own, rushing to the quidditch changing room to prepare for the match. By the time she had fully suited up, she had a clear idea of what to do, more or less. She just needed to make sure that they won today's game.
The rest of the Gryffindor team started coming in and getting ready as Skye followed in pursuit. After reviewing the plans for today’s game, everyone grabbed their brooms and went to the pitch. Snow had dusted the ground, but that didn’t matter. Fen was fired up and nothing could hold her back from winning this match.
The balls shot into the air, Bludgers circling menacingly while the Snitch zipped about in it’s graceful little dance as it fluttered about. Fen gripped her Beaters club as the seekers duked it out for the Quaffle. She held her breath, only releasing when she saw Skye shoot out with the Quaffle under her arm. Fen flew into gear shortly after, keeping the Bludgers off her team and trying to send them to the other team as they flew past.
Fen shot through the air, just barely bashing the Bludger up into the air before it hit the third Gryffindor seeker when she saw Skye being chased by the opposing seekers while she had the quaffle once more. Fen quickly rushed over to lend a helping hand, confusing the enemy team as the two started circling over and under each other.
The stands were roaring in anticipation as Skye raced down the pitch, Fen by her side smacking away the bludgers and opponents who came too close. The rings were in sight as Fen lagged behind slightly to give her teammate an opening. Skye readied for the shot as a bludger started racing for her.
Fen’s eyes widened as seconds slowed rapidly, the play by play of the bludger as it grew ever closer. Fen gritted her teeth, her body moving without thinking as she raced forward-
CRACK
Fen felt herself in free fall while spinning as she saw the remnants of her broom shower over her in splinters. She could see Skye racing to her rescue, reaching out her hand.
Seconds turned to minutes, Minutes turning into eternity as Fen saw the paniced smile Skye held as she desperately reached out for her beater.
Fen smiled back, time suddenly back to normal as her hand shot out, grabbing onto Skye’s arm, stopping her fall. Unfortunately, The combined weight of both girls still sent the broom crashing down, the nose of the broom driving into the sand of the pitch pit and throwing them further down the way.
The two continued to tumble, Skye landing on Fen. The two lay there, breathless before Skye kissed Fen on the lips. “Sorry for breaking your arm there.”
Fen was still dumbstruck by the kiss to notice any pain in her arm. “D-dont… It’s fine.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“It’s unfortunate that you have to be benched until your arm heals. On the bright side, you still won the match.” Lilian said as Fen, Tonks and Rowan sat together.
“Yeah! And that was a smashing wipeout too! Hopefully Madam Hooch has another broom for you to borrow. Bludgers are a real nasty bunch.” Tonks said with a mouthful of sandwich.
Fen could only smile, thinking of the kiss and touching her arm, only to wince at how sore it felt. Then she looked up to see Skye. “Heya stranger.”
Fen smiled. “Well… I think I won the bet.”
“I think that’s the first time someone has ever beat me at anything Quidditch related. But I still would’ve dated you even if we lost.”
Fen sat there, her face frozen in confused joy. “You what?”
“Well duh! I thought I'd been sending out all the signals! You’re amazing, cute and great at quidditch. You can even keep up with me, which is an amazing bonus to you being a great kisser.” Skye explained with a slight blush.
Fen just sat there until Lilian and Tonks pushed her forward to Skye. “Have fun you two!” Rowan called out as Fen walked towards Hogsmeade with her girlfriend.
Best. Quidditch Game. Ever.
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Second in Command (Ep - Part 4)
Summary: Life as the “spare to the heir” isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be when you’re the supposed screw-up of the family, but people don’t know what really happens behind closed doors.
Rating: Mature
A/N: Just wanted to say that you guys are continuously kind people, and I appreciate every read, like, kudos, ask, comment, and reblog on this ridiculously long story! :D
Found on AO3: Beginning | Current
Tumblr Chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14| 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 |
Epilogue Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4
Tag List: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @wellhellotragic @ekr032-blog-blog @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @a-faekindagirl @mayquita @captainsjedi @captswanis4vr @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @alys07 @andiirivera
Indy walks ahead of him, her leash tugging him along, while Emma walks beside him, their steps matching up as their feet move over the pavement in the gardens. The dullness of the winter plants, brown and gray trees barren of leaves, are fading away and blooming into lush greens and vibrant colors. It’s still cold outside, temperatures dipping low, so he and Emma are bundled up as they take their early morning walk, something they’ve taken up together in the past few weeks.
He finds it relaxing with the simplicity of it all, and he knows that Emma feels the same. It’s a way for them both to get some exercise on days when the gym in their home goes unused as well as a way to give Indy more space to run. She’s calmed as she’s gotten a bit older, but she’s still rambunctious and would likely need acres and acres of land to roam and be completely happy with her running space. Maybe they should travel up to Norfolk and go to their country home so she has a larger backyard and he and Emma have more privacy to go out and about outside of their home without the interference of photographers and reporters aching for a picture of Emma’s stomach.
The last two months of their lives have been, quite frankly, some of the most hectic of his life. Finding out Emma is pregnant was honestly one of the best moments of his life, even if how she phrased it was a little cheeky after such an awful scare. God, when she fell on that stage, he felt his heart drop to his stomach. He’d never been more terrified of anything in his entire life. Something was wrong with his wife, his best friend, and he didn’t know what it was. She was conscious the entire time, but she just wasn’t right. And the two hours between her fall and her telling him that they were having a child, well, he felt as if they’d never end.
Now he knows he was being a bit dramatic, but hindsight is always twenty-twenty instead of the blurry, faded vision that comes when you’re in the moment. Emma and the baby are just fine, growing like a weed really. She’s got the smallest of stomachs, something she woke him up and showed him just a few days ago. She was so excited, her eyes lighting up and practically sparkling under the bathroom’s lights, and sure enough, there was the slightest curve to her stomach, more physical proof that they’re having a child, not that he really needed anymore. But it was something special, and he was just as thrilled to get to see the changes in her stomach.
And in her breasts, but that doesn’t seem to be a very fatherly thing to think. He thinks it, though, and he really appreciates the growth and how her libido has come back in full force in the past few days. That’s simply something he won’t be sharing with the child one day, but he hopes she (he’s absolutely convinced they’re having a little girl even if he can’t seem to come up with the reason why) can see how enamored he is with her mother. If not, he’s failed them both.
“Hey, babe?”
“Yeah?” he questions, reaching his hand out and twining their fingers together while they continue to walk together, nearing Liam and Abigail’s apartment.
“I think we should go on a babymoon.”
“What the bloody hell is a babymoon? I’m pretty sure that’s not a phase of the moon they taught us in primary school.”
She laughs before taking a step closer to release his hand and tuck her arm around the crook of his elbow while resting her head on his shoulder. He knows she’s being affectionate, but he also knows that she’s not willing to admit that her hands are cold because he suggested she wear gloves before they went out and she didn’t. She’s stubborn as hell, his love.
“I mean, it’s just, like, a vacation before the baby is born. The name is a ridiculous thing. I know it’s super trendy and all, but maybe we could get away for a week or a weekend before I’m not allowed to fly anymore. I think something different might be good for us. Something warm.”
“So before you’re heavily pregnant? When can you not fly? Six or seven months?”
“Yep, I was thinking next month or May. Maybe June if we don’t travel too far away.”
“Well next month is busy.” He runs through the plans he knows they have, trying to remember everything off the top of his head while attempting to get Indy to move away from the rose bushes. “We had to push back the Kidding a Goal two-year event already to May, and Liam’s fortieth birthday party is happening. I’ve also got the trip to Poland. Those are just the big things, I think. We’d also have to work around our engagements, but the middle of May would probably work.”
“We could do it for our anniversary. Just earlier.”
“True,” he agrees, continuing to run through his calendar in his head while tugging at Indy’s leash again, the dog finally deciding to move on with her explorations. “Why don’t we work on it when we get home this afternoon?”
“Sounds good to me,” she sighs, nuzzling her head into his shoulder before laughing at Indy attempting to chase a bird that’s flittering between bushes
The three of them return back to their apartment twenty minutes later, Indy’s tired legs and the cool air winning out, in order to shower and get ready to drive to Hounslow for their St. Patrick’s Day activities. Emma’s stylists work on her hair and makeup while he gets ready, dressing in his Irish Guard uniform as he did for their wedding. He catches Emma looking at him in the mirror, and he throws her a wink, smiling while bobby pins are attached to her hair to keep her hat in place over her blonde curls.
This is one of his favorite events and though it’s technically Emma’s responsibility, he always joins her for this particular engagement. It’s likely because he gets to pal around and drink a Guinness with members of the Guard afterward, but he enjoys it all around. It’s relaxed and informal, despite the military aspect of it, and those are always his favorite things to do. State dinners and other diplomatic events are not usually enjoyable, but he understands he’s there for the country and his father, not himself. He can help better Britain even if he’s really there to smile and shake hands while telling a cheeky joke that would get him in loads of trouble if his father ever caught wind of it.
(He’s still eternally thankful Brennan has no idea about the joke he once made while slightly intoxicated about the size of his father’s ego having a negative effect on other parts of his anatomy. It’s not the 1600s, he has a good relationship with his dad, and he feels like he still might get beheaded for that one.)
Thomas drives them to Hounslow, and they get out of the car to go and greet the crowds outside, shaking hands and accepting gifts. Over the years he’s grown accustomed to accepting flowers and letters, the occasional handmade jar of jam after he was once pictured as a child with raspberry jam all over his face, but lately it’s been all baby gifts all of the time. They have quite the collection of baby shoes, which he doesn’t understand because infants don’t need them, but they are damn cute. And tiny, so tiny. How can a human’s feet be so small?
He’s obviously well prepared to be a father if he can’t get past the size of infant shoes.
Sure enough, he’s handed several booties and outfits, the colors ranging as everyone tries to guess if they’re having a boy or girl and bugging him as if he’s going to share the private news with everyone. He and Emma don’t even know yet. She’s not far along enough, though he has a sneaking (see: strong) suspicion they’re having a girl. Emma thinks they’re having a boy, and he’s choosing to think that he knows better.
He very rarely does.
“Thank you,” he tells everyone, handing some of the gifts, including a miniature version of his uniform, to their aides, “this is so sweet of you all. Emma and I give you all of our love.”
He finds Emma near the end of the line, sliding his hand around her waist and pulling her closer while she fumbles with a few gifts too, stuffed bears and clothes along with a few flowers that are already causing some of her allergies to kick in.
“You ready to go inside, my love?”
“Yep,” he whispers in her ear as a camera flashes behind him, “we’ve got some Shamrock to hand out and beers to drink. Well, at least I get to do the second part.”
“Shut up,” Emma playfully whines, waving to people as they walk by, “you’re being rude reminding me of that.”
“Well, I do so enjoy pushing your buttons. Maybe I’ll let you kiss me later so you can taste the alcohol.”
“Yeah, I don’t think you should be counting yourself at getting lucky today, no matter how many four leaf clovers you find.” She kisses his jaw before pinching his cheek, and he barks out a laugh while they walk inside to get situated for the parade and the rest of their duties.
He wakes to kisses up and down his arm, soft lips and softer skin pressing into him as the haze of sleep fades away and the darkness of their bedroom comes into view. He can barely see a thing, his eyes still adjusting to the lack of light, but he can feel the heat of Emma’s body pressing into his back and sending pinpricks of pleasure throughout his body.
“W – what time is it, love?”
“A little past two.”
She kisses the back of his neck, right at his hairline, and the pressure of her breasts and her stomach pressing against him while her foot is running up and down his calves is already too much when he hasn’t been awake for more than a minute.
“Emma, love,” he grumbles when she starts inching down his back, her tongue tracing his spine, “you’ve got to give a man a moment.”
She stops then, rolling off of him and onto her back, the mattress slightly bouncing under her weight, and he groans at the lack of heat between them now. He didn’t mean for her to stop completely, but she’s obviously taken it that way. So he scoots over and kisses up her shoulder and her neck, fast flickers of his lips until he’s slanting them over hers and hovering above her.
“Hey, why’d you stop?”
“You told me to give you a moment, figured you weren’t quite ready or in the mood or something.”
She shrugs, her mused hair moving up and down as her eyes blink and her lips tick up on one side. His hand finds her face, caressing her cheek, and he smiles softly when she smiles back up at him.
“First of all,” he begins, pressing a kiss against each of her eyelids, “I am nearly always in the mood to be with my knock-out of a wife, so don’t get it in that head of yours that I’m not.” He moves to kiss behind her ear then, gently nibbling on the lobe. “Secondly, all I needed was a moment. It’s been awhile since I’ve been woken up in the middle of the night when you’ve already kept me up late.”
She laughs under her breath, the smallest, sweetest sound, before twisting her head and kissing him, slow and sweet so that he feels it in every inch of his body.
“Yeah, well, you can blame your kid for that.”
“Yes, I’ll tell her right as she’s born that she’s made mummy and daddy’s sex life slow down before she’s even born. I’m sure she’ll totally get that.”
“First of all, we still don’t know, and you are being super stubborn with the girl thing. And second of all, since we’re making points, our sex life is fine. We literally had sex three hours ago.”
“I said she’s slowing it down, not ruining it.”
“Semantics.”
“Romantic.”
“What?” She laughs, her eyes crinkling up on the sides as her smile stretches across her face. “That’s in no way romantic.”
“Oi, I think it is. Don’t you think sex is romantic?”
“I mean, obviously.” She rolls her eyes before rolling onto her side and pulling the comforter up over her. “But not in this context no. What I was doing before we got into this discussion was romantic sex.”
“That wasn’t sex.”
“It was the preface to sex, which is sometimes the best part. I was doing naughty things to you.”
“Did you just use the word naughty instead of dirty? Darling, you are officially British. Next thing you know you’re going to speaking with an accent.”
“I have an accent,” she protests, scrunching up her nose. “It’s just not the same as everyone over here, which I think makes me unique in all of the best ways.”
He rolls back over on his stomach and hooks his arm over Emma so that she can rest her chin on his forearm while he rests his on his pillow next to her head. “So do you think the babe will sound more like you or me?”
“You.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re going to grow up around people who sound like you. That’s what influences the accents, not necessarily just the parents. Think about it. I have an American dad and a British mom, and I have an American accent because that’s where I grew up.”
“True,” he hums, moving his hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Does that bother you at all?”
“Nah, not at all. It’s like the opposite of how it was in my house growing up. It’s kind of weird when you think about how similar it is.” She tilts her head and smirks at him. “Plus, your accent is damn sexy.”
“Really now?” he purrs, inching closer to her before crawling over her and propping himself up on his forearms and knees, making sure not to press his weight down on her stomach. “You think I’m sexy?”
“I think your accent is sexy,” she corrects, her lips ticking up on one side while her hands frame his cheeks, cool fingertips inching up into her hair and tugging him down so that he can feel the heat of her breath brushing over her lips. “Would you like to get back to where I was trying to go earlier or can I cross off doing naughty things to you?”
“Whatever the first thing was, most definitely.”
He wakes later that morning while Emma slumbers on her side of the bed, hair tangled and falling down her bare back from where the comforter shifted in her sleep. He quietly gets out of bed, attempting not to wake her or Indy who must have wandered into the room while they were sleeping, and makes his way into the bathroom, turning the water in the shower on to get ready for today.
He should have woken an hour ago, but the bed was too comfortable and his body too tired, so he rushes through his morning routine, using Emma’s blow dryer to fix his hair instead of letting it dry naturally. He slips into a suit, putting on a pair of his ever-growing collection of cufflinks, before spritzing on his cologne and grabbing his already packed suitcase out of the closet, letting the wheels trail along the hardwood until he’s back in the bedroom.
Stepping over to the bed, he scratches behind Indy’s ears, the dog opening one eye to look at him before cuddling back into bed as he sits down next to Emma.
“Love,” he whispers, pushing her hair off of her forehead until her eyes flutter open, the green hazy and sleep-ridden, “I’ve got to go.”
“Already?”
“Yeah,” he sighs, leaning down and kissing her forehead, “my flight is in two hours, and Mum likes to travel early.”
Emma yawns before sitting up, pulling the comforter over her and looking every bit like the girl he met nearly eight years ago with her crazy hair and pillow creased face and complete lack of care if she looks put together or not. “Okay,” she sighs, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him into a hug, “but you two be safe. Call me when you land, when you come home, if anything interesting happens, if anything boring happens.”
“I know the long-distance drill, sweetheart.” He brushes his lips against hers then, feeling the softness that comes with Emma. “But it’s only two days. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Ugh, I know. Two days doesn’t give me nearly enough time to have my affair.”
“You’re a cheeky little minx, so I’m sure you could figure it out.”
“Damn right.” She kisses him again. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He reaches down and touches her stomach, her skin warm beneath his touch. “And you, little love.” Indy barks then, walking up the bed until she’s breathing in his face. “And you, Indy girl, even if you’re not supposed to be in this bed.”
He and his mother fly to Poland that morning for a dinner the British ambassador is hosting in honor of Liam and his birthday in a few weeks time. They were given short notice on the event, and since Liam couldn’t attend, Killian and Allison agreed to attend, knowing it would be no trouble for them. The morning flies by as all of these official visits do, in a flurry of handshakes and small talk, everyone attempting to fill his head with as much information as they can. It’s been awhile since he’s done an event with his mum, something he used to do when he was younger, but they fall into a natural rhythm. His mum is an expert at things like this, using her quick wit and kind smile to make everyone comfortable, and if there’s ever been anyone he’s tried to emulate, it would be her.
“Oh, this is gorgeous,” Allison compliments as they walk into the dining hall, her hand wrapped around his elbow. “We should decorate one of the rooms at home more like this. It’s more modern.”
“Well then we’d have to get rid of the ancient furniture that no one is allowed to sit on.”
She chuckles next to him as he pulls her chair out for her and waits for her to sit down before taking his own seat next to her. “You and your brother get cheekier the older you get, I swear. I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to be the other way around.”
“Well, you can’t take away our video game privileges now, mum.”
The dinner is indeed wonderful and full of Polish dishes and traditions celebrating Liam. He takes a video to send to his brother, making sure to capture the cake he knows Liam would be stuffing into his face and flipping the camera around to show the smirk on his face that he got to eat it.
Should have shown up to his own pre-birthday event.
Later that night he and his mum are driven back to their hotel, and while they have separate suites, she joins him for a cup of tea, settling down into the living room with the television playing the local news. His phone buzzes just as a segment on their visit begins, and he’s thankful for the excuse to mute the sound.
“Hey, beautiful,” he greets Emma, his lips stretching into a smile as he props his feet up on the coffee table, his socks practically falling off next to his glass, “did you miss me today?”
“Obviously. However could I survive twelve hours without you?”
Her voice is dripping with disdain, and he chuckles to himself as he imagines the roll of her eyes and the absolute disinterest she has when he’s being cocky. “You could at least act a little sad.”
“I can cry if you want me to, if that would make you feel better and boost your already inflated ego.”
“So you’re just as cheeky as you were this morning then. What’d you do today, love?”
“Absolutely nothing,” she sighs, the happiness seeping through the phone speaker. “I got dressed in pajamas, took Indy out, and then we settled down in the darkness of the bedroom and watched Gilmore Girls just to relive all of that nostalgia.”
“Ah, yes, I’m sure Indy has a lot of nostalgia about Stars Hollow.”
“Of course she does,” Emma laughs, and he can hear the theme song playing in the background. “Ruby came over for a few hours with food from the restaurant. I may save some leftovers for you.”
“Yeah, I already know that won’t be happening.”
“Hey, I don’t eat that much! I haven’t even gained any more than regular pregnancy weight.”
“Love, you and the Gilmore Girls all have amazing metabolisms. I’ve gained more pregnancy weight than you simply because our walks aren’t quite the same as our runs.”
“I can still run, you know? Dr. Hudson said so as long as it’s just a jog and not too much.”
“I know. We’ll have to do that when I get home. Mum and I ate a lot of cake tonight.”
Emma hums, sighing into the phone. “I’m jealous. Tell Allison I said hi when you see her in the morning.”
“She’s sitting with me in the room right now actually, so if you were going to talk bad about her, now probably wouldn’t be the time.”
“Damn. That’s obviously what I was about to do.”
He and Emma chat for a few more minutes, but he knows he has to let her go so as not to be rude to his mother. She’s been fiddling with her phone and watching the muted television, so he’s sure she’s regretting coming over only to be usurped by a phone call.
“Hey, darling, I’ve got to let you go, okay?”
“Okay, is everything alright?”
“Everything is perfect. I’ve just been boring Mum making her listen to our conversation. I love you. I hope you, Indy, and little love have a good time binging the rest of Gilmore Girls and eating all of my food.”
“We will,” she promises. “I love you, too. Bye, babe.”
He hangs up the phone, smiling at the picture of he and Emma that pops up afterward, before shutting it down and placing it on the arm of his chair. He looks up at his mother then who is softly smiling at him as if she really was listening to his conversation.
“What?” he laughs, feeling the slightest bit uncomfortable.
“Nothing,” she smiles, pulling her legs up underneath her and curling into the chair, “I was just thinking about how happy you are.”
His lips twitch, and he swallows the small lump of emotion in his throat. “Well, I am happy, Mum. I’m nearly always happy.”
“I know, I know,” she waves him away, tucking her long hair behind her ears, “but you’ve just been through so much and sometimes I look at you and wonder how I got so lucky that you’re my baby. And now you’re having a baby, and I’m emotional about it all of the time.”
“Mum,” he softly laughs, getting up from his seat to cross the room and crouch down in front of her, taking her hands in his, “what’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m simply a crazy old woman.”
“Well, we all know that’s not true,” he promises, guessing that it’s not the time to be making jokes. “You’re bloody brilliant and completely and totally young.”
“Thank you, Killian. It was just that I was watching how natural you are with Emma, how good you’ll both be as parents. And I guess sometimes I feel so much regret over not getting to see you both together for all of those years. You were so cheated.”
“Hey,” he soothes, running his thumb over her knuckles and ignoring the ache in his thighs from the squat, “it’s all okay. I know that a lot of it was bloody awful, but if I’m honest, I liked having those years with Emma. We got to fall in love in peace, and as wonderful as it would be for you to have gotten to know her sooner, we can’t change that. So let’s be happy, yeah?”
“I know, darling. I’m sorry, but being a mum and a grandmother, all you want is for your kids to be happy. And you feel a bit accomplished when you realize they are. You’ll understand that soon enough.”
“Well, once we get over the terror and get used to having a person’s entire life depend on us, yeah, sure, I’ll focus on the happiness.”
His mum releases his hand to stroke his forehead, pushing the hair back. “You two are going to be wonderful, and your baby is going to be the most beautiful little thing.”
“Can you say that again for me to send to Liam and Abigail? I’d like to have it on record for bragging rights for the rest of eternity.”
His mother winks at him, smiling before leaning back in her chair and asking him what movie he wants to watch. It’s been a long time since he simply spent time with his mum with no one else, so he savors it, laughing with her and talking about anything she wants until she decides to go to bed in her room next door.
The following day is full of engagements, but the two of them manage to slip away to dinner and sightseeing that evening, covering themselves in the cool early April weather and hiding away from anyone who may recognize them so they can have a normal night. Overseas visits, even with all of their setbacks and frustrations, are some of his favorite things to do if only because he can sometimes slip away and be himself in a place where fewer people know him.
Of course, he managed to slip around London for a few years as well, but he’s decided that was some kind of bloody miracle.
Early Wednesday morning they board their flight and make their way home, the four-hour plane ride seemingly stretching on for double the time until they touch down on land again and he and his mother separate into their different vehicles to make their ways back to Kensington and Buckingham, respectively.
Walking in the front door, he knows Emma won’t be home as she’s at the opening of a youth theater, so he takes the opportunity to let Indy in from their garden, indulging her in her excitement over him being home, her tail wagging so furiously she could create a windstorm. After she’s calmed, he settles down into the living room and pulls up his laptop, answering emails and organizing his schedule all while watching the shows he missed.
Multi-tasking in the best way possible, really.
It’s hours later when he hears the front door open before closing and clicking into place as heels click on their hardwood floor, the sounds getting louder the nearer she gets.
“Hi,” Emma sighs when she walks into the living room, immediately walking toward him and straddling his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs, while she presses a lingering kiss to his jaw and scrapes her fingers through his hair, “I’m so, so, so glad you’re home.”
“Hmm, me too,” he smiles before slanting his lips over hers once, twice, three times. “As much fun as I had with my mother honoring my brother, I quite prefer your company. And I was promised leftovers.”
Emma laughs against his lips as the heat of her breath washes over him and he settles into contentment. “Babe, I hate to break it to you, but those did not last.”
“Well, I guess you’ll have to figure out a different way to welcome me home.”
She smirks before burying her face in his neck, her words spoken against his skin. “A foot rub would be fantastic, thanks. Those heels are a killer.”
Without his permission, not that it has ever been that way before, the first few weeks of April pass in the blink of an eye. He wants his life to slow down, for moments to pass like waves crashing into the shore, continuous and only quickly during a storm, but that’s simply not how things work.
Of course, there are times when he’d like life to speed up the slightest bit, and right now is one of those times.
He’s been sitting on the bed thumbing through his phone for twenty-seven minutes now, half of it spent reading an article about hair loss genes being passed down simply because that’s what was at the top of the page, but he’s gotten a bit bored. There’s also the fact that they’re going to be late for Emma’s doctor’s appointment if she doesn’t hurry up. She always takes longer than him to get ready, but it’s never like this, especially when they’re just hopping over to the doctor’s office and then coming back home to get ready for Liam’s birthday party tonight.
Sighing, he rolls over on the bed until he’s standing, pulling his jeans up so that they rest on his hips, and walks into the bathroom to find it empty of Emma but with clothes strewn across the floor. He tentatively steps over them, keeping himself from picking them up and throwing them in the basket, and makes his way into the closet where Emma is stretched out on the floor with her arms over her face and her jeans on but unbuttoned and unzipped.
Bloody hell, it’s a mess in here.
“Hey,” he tentatively begins, kicking at her bare feet with the tip of his boot so that she uncovers one of her eyes, “what’s happening here?”
“My jeans don’t fit. Not a single pair of them except for the ones that have yellow paint on the ass because mom decided she wanted to have a sunny yellow living room.”
“And this is surprising to you because?”
“Because last week my jeans fit, and this week they don’t. That is some kind of fucked up thing.”
“I believe that’s called pregnancy.”
Her eyes slant and every bit of joy that was remaining on her face disappears while she stares up at him like she’s five seconds away from murdering him. “I will stab you with the first earring I find if you don’t wipe that smug smirk off your face.”
He chuckles under his breath, knowing that she’ll likely do it, before squatting down and lying on the floor next to her, emulating her position. The hardwood hurts his back, but he imagines they won’t be here for long. If they are, he’ll just have to suck it up until this all important jeans situation is resolved.
“So your jeans won’t fit, love?”
“Nope. And I don’t really think I’ve gotten that much bigger. I still just kind of look like I ate too big of a meal when I’m wearing clothes. I don’t know why this is bothering me so much. Obviously, I can just do the hairband trick until I buy new jeans, but I love wearing the damn things. They make me feel normal.”
“What? Wearing heels and a dress that perfectly matches your coat with a hat that was specifically dyed to match that coat and dress doesn’t make you feel normal? I never would have guessed.”
She snorts beside him while her hand finds his, and she wraps her fingers around his palm before pulling it up and brushing a kiss against his skin. “Surprisingly, no, that does not make me feel normal. That makes me feel like a barbie doll.”
“You’re not a barbie doll, love.”
She sighs next to him, but it’s really more of a huff. She’s frustrated, that much he knows, and a part of him is pretty sure that it’s not only because her jeans don’t fit. So he squeezes her hand, silently encouraging her to share her thoughts as he so often does with a touch or a glance.
“That’s just how I feel sometimes, you know? And I know that’s not how it is with you and me. But to the world it’s like I’m this girl who plays dress up and is a wife and an expectant mother and nothing else, which is fine if that’s what you want. And babe, I love that. I love being married to you and having a baby with you who I am so in love with it’s basically an obsession, but if I have to answer one more question about if I think you’re going to change a diaper or wake up in the middle of the night if the baby’s crying, which is literally what a parent does, while you stand next to me and answer a question about global relations, I’m going to lose my damn mind.”
“I know,” he mumbles, the weight and unfairness of her words settling into him. “I’m sorry that you’re so frustrated, and I’m sorry that some people are stuck in an old-timey world view.” He releases her hand and twists on the ground, propping his head up in his hand while looking Emma in the eye. “Why don’t you take up a patronage or two dealing with women’s rights or something similar? I know everyone was on the fence of that because they thought it was too political, but fuck that, Emma. If that’s something you want to do, you sure as hell should do it. It’s not political. It’s human, and you would be an incredible ambassador. You should do things that make you happy.”
Her eyes light up, lips twitching into a smile. “Yeah?”
“Absolutely. The fact that we don’t have any specifically for that is bullocks when we support nearly everything. You could help so many people, and I think you’d be a bloody rockstar at it.”
“I know I would.”
“That’s the spirit,” he encourages, leaning over and brushing a kiss against her lips, letting it go a little further than either of them should when they have to be somewhere soon. “But right now we’ve got to go see if I’m going to win our bet because we’ll finally see that our little love is a girl.”
“You keep thinking that. Also, there was no bet, and if there was, I never lose.”
“Oh shit, that’s cold,” Emma gasps as Dr. Hudson applies gel to her bared stomach, her bump only sticking up the slightest bit while she wears her jeans buttoned together with a hairband, the determined lass. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to that.”
“Most people never do,” Dr. Hudson assures them. “So all of your tests look good, everything in normal levels. Are we having any dizzy spells?”
“No,” Emma answers, her eyes focused on the screen that’ll show the baby in a few seconds, “I haven’t. And my diet and eating times are so regularly scheduled and planned thanks to the obsessed man next to me, so I’ve been feeling really good.”
Her hand finds his so much like earlier, and he clasps it between both of his hands before leaning down to kiss her forehead. “She’s been doing well, not a lot of symptoms.”
“Well, she’s in that wonderful sweet spot of the pregnancy. It usually only gets worse from here.”
“That’s not very encouraging.”
Dr. Hudson laughs before focusing all of her attention back on the ultrasound, the baby’s heartbeat suddenly sounding throughout the room. God, the first time he heard it, the rhythmic beat so much calmer than his own, he nearly cried. Okay, so he might have cried, a few tears slipping from his eyes. Emma didn’t even cry until later when she came home with the picture and fell apart saying she couldn’t see the baby and felt like Rachel from Friends.
But he’s grown accustomed to the sound of their child’s heartbeat now, and as the picture pops up on the screen, she’s as clear as can be.
“So we’re looking really healthy, heartbeat is good, growth is good. And you’re eighteen weeks now, so while sometimes I can’t tell, I can tell you the gender today, if that’s what you want?”
He looks down at Emma to find her already looking up at him, a smile gracing her lips as she nods in confirmation. “We want to know.”
“Alright,” Dr. Hudson smiles, looking at the monitor one last time, “you two are the lucky parents to a boy.”
A boy.
He’s going to have a son.
Holy shit, Emma’s never going to let him live this down, but he doesn’t care at this point. They’re having a boy.
“I told you so,” Emma chuckles, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. “I am never letting you live this one down.”
“I know.” He dips his head down to brush his lips against hers, squeezing her hand as tightly as possible as this begins to sink in even more. “Maybe I’ll get the next one right.”
“One human coming into the world out of my vagina at a time please.”
“You have such a way with words.”
“Just being honest,” she laughs, the sound as beautiful as the heartbeat still playing on the monitor. “I love you.”
“I love you too. And the little lad.”
“Yeah, and the little lad.”
He and Emma walk across the gardens to Liam and Abigail’s apartment, Emma’s heels clicking against the cobblestone. He already knows that she’ll be wearing his shoes on the short walk home, but she’d insisted she wear the heels for the portrait they’re taking to commemorate Liam’s fortieth birthday. It’s apparently a major milestone in life, deserving of an official portrait, and as much as he loves his brother, he thinks Liam’s a tad bit over the top.
But he and Liam differ in a lot of ways, Liam’s penchant for large celebrations and dinners with several courses while in evening wear one of those things. They were both raised this way, to expect and want dinners and parties like this, and maybe once upon a time had he never met Emma, that’s how he would celebrate all of his birthdays.
His wife, God bless her, is a fan of the simple things in life. She likes eating takeout on the couch with her feet tucked under her legs which are likely clothed in leggings that have a hole on the inside of her thigh. She enjoys sitting around watching television in the darkness of their bedroom for hours on end, sometimes an entire day (or two), and if she could, she’d probably spend the rest of her time in the garden throwing a ball for Indy to chase. For his birthday, all they did was a small dinner with friends and family, and it was perfect. He couldn’t have asked for anything more.
But he doesn’t mind the party Liam and Abigail are having. Everyone can enjoy what they want, and this day isn’t about him. It’s about his brother.
He and Emma step up to their front door, the towering black wood with moss looming above them, and he’s just about to knock on the door when Emma stops him with a hand on his forearm.
“What?” he laughs, turning to face her, their height difference almost gone with her heels.
“You have to be careful with how you talk about the baby. We’re keeping the sex a secret, remember?”
“Darling, I think they know we had sex. That’s not a secret.”
Her face scrunches up, and he leans down to brush a kiss against her lips before leaving a trail of kisses across her face, making her laugh under her breath.
“You’re going to make dad jokes. I already know.”
“I’ve been preparing for it with my humor for my entire life.” He grins, kissing her again simply because he can. “But I promise I’ll be on my best behavior, and I won’t mention our joyful news. As far as anyone in there knows, we know nothing.”
“That’s right Jon Snow.”
“Hey,” he chuckles, wrapping his arm around her waist and tugging her into his side before knocking on the door and ringing the doorbell, “he lived in the series, so that’s totally not an insult.”
The door opens before Emma can say anything else, Liam appearing on the other side of the door in his suit. “Hey guys,” he greets, a bright smile on his face as he takes a step back, “why don’t you come on in?”
“So nice of you to invite us into your home when we were supposed to be here,” he snarks, knowing it’ll rile Liam.
“Well, I was going to say I’m glad to see you, but I’m apparently only glad to see Emma. Hello, love,” he smiles before leaning into kiss Emma on the cheek and wrap her in a hug. “How are you today?”
“Good, great really. Happy birthday, old man.”
Liam barks out a laugh before releasing Emma, clapping her on the shoulder and throwing her a wink. “Has Killian been calling me older brother, emphasis on the older, all day?”
“Surprisingly not, but that’s just because he calls you an old wanker all of the time anyways.”
“No bit of that surprises me.”
Liam embraces him then, wrapping his arms around Killian’s shoulders as Killian does the same. “Happy birthday, olderbrother. What’d you buy for your midlife crisis?”
“Saving the sportscar for the fiftieth birthday. I’m not old yet, thank you very much.”
“You two are ridiculous,” Emma laughs, walking past the both of them and down the hall where he spies Alexander and Elizabeth running between the archways.
“Are we?” Liam questions, patting him in the back before following Emma. “I don’t think anyone has ever described us that way.”
“There’s a first for everything.”
The two of them find everyone in the dining room, roaming throughout the table and the bar that’s set up through the next room. Emma’s animatedly chatting with Abigail, her hands moving all over the place while Lizzie tugs at her dress until Emma picks her up and rests her on her hip. There’s several of Liam’s old military friends as well as a few of he and Abigail’s friends who he recognizes from events over the years. Their home is packed, chatter filling his ears while he goes around greeting everyone before stopping at the bar and ordering a glass of rum.
“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be in solidarity with your wife?”
He turns to the side and smiles down at Abigail, kissing her temple after he finishes his sip. “Hello, darling. Did Emma send you over here to tell me that?”
“No, but I remember being pregnant and my husband’s lips tasting like whiskey after a party.”
He chuckles under his breath, finding Emma talking to his parents before turning back to look at Abigail. “The only problem with that statement is that Liam drinks whiskey instead of rum. Bloody awful drink. And I’ve cut back on the coffee and tea in solidarity, thank you very much.”
“Oh well look at you Mr. Big Shot,” she jokes, squeezing his bicep. “You’re just so kind.”
“Someone is awfully sassy today, love. Is it because you’ve realized you’re married to an old man and are compensating?”
“Exactly. I’m trying to cope with his ancient age.”
“That’s what I thought. I’m going to go kiss Emma so she tastes the rum since I’m just that evil.”
Abigail snorts next to him, and he leaves her with a smile before making his way to Emma and kissing her before she gets a chance to say anything. He lets his tongue flicker out so she can taste the rum, his own little private joke, but he doesn’t think she minds from the way she hums into it. His parents probably mind from the way they cough next to him, but they can wait.
“Hi,” Emma whispers when he pulls back, “did you forget we’ve got company, tiger?”
“No. I just didn’t bloody care.”
His parents laugh behind him, and he turns to greet them then, hugging his parents and asking them how they’re doing before they get called off to chat. Liam really should have held this dinner somewhere other than his home for how many people are in here, and Emma asks him to go sit in the other room, quiet surrounding them until Alex runs in and practically jumps on Emma’s stomach with all the force of his bony limbs.
“Mummy told me that you have a baby in your belly, Emmy.”
“Well, your Mummy is a smart lady because I do have a baby in my belly.”
“Wow,” Alex gasps, his eyes lighting up as he puts his hands on Emma’s stomach before looking up at her and speaking in the cutest little voice with his broken words that are constantly getting better. “Is it a boy or a girl?”
“We don’t know yet,” Emma lies, and Killian chuckles next to her, rubbing up and down her back. “That’s going to be a surprise.”
Alex huffs and crosses his arms, obviously cross at them for not letting him know if his cousin is going to be a boy or a girl. It’s likely a good thing he wasn’t old enough to understand this all when Abigail was pregnant with Lizzie because he would have been up in arms about all of the surprises and secrets. “What’s its name?”
“We don’t know that either, buddy,” he answers to try to take some of Alex’s blame off of Emma.
“I think you should name it Fish.”
Emma snickers next to him, biting her bottom lip to try to contain it. It’s then that he gets an idea, sticking out his stomach as far as he can and making himself look bloated. “What about me, buddy? Does Uncle Killian look like he’s having a baby?”
“Uncle Killian looks like a silly goose,” Abigail coos as she steps in the room, squatting down next to Alex, “and you look like someone who needs to go to sleep.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You have to. It’s bedtime.”
Alex’s bottom lip starts quivering while his eyes begin to water, the meltdown imminent. Within seconds Abigail has him on her hip walking out of the ballroom and meeting Liam and Elizabeth by the doorway, the two of them walking away to put their kids to bed like some kind of well-oiled machine.
“You know, Abigail isn’t even my mother, and if she told me it was time to go to bed, I’d listen.”
Emma giggles beside him, leaning back into the couch and into him before resting her head on his shoulder. He kisses her hair while he rubs her back, knowing she’s likely tired when they’ll still be here for awhile, but it’s only a short walk home if she asks for it.
“You are a very smart man because you listen to all of the women in your life.”
“Damn right. Even Lizzie. She’s two, but she’s the boss.”
“Who’s the boss?” Brennan asks them, settling down on the couch across the coffee table from them. “Because the answer better be your mother or Emma. If not, you are lying, son.”
“Lizzie,” Emma answers for him, patting his stomach before her hand rests on his thigh, squeezing a little too high as if she’s trying to rouse him. “Lizzie is the boss.”
“Damn right,” Brennan laughs, echoing Killian’s words from a moment ago even if he didn’t hear them. “I’ve never seen a kid with such spunk.”
“Oi, I had that kind of spunk, dad. Still do.”
“Yeah, but you’re old now. I don’t remember these things.”
“Your firstborn is forty! I’m still barely in my thirties! How can you call me old? You’re the oldest person at this party.”
“And the most handsome,” Allison adds in, sitting down next to Brennan and brushing a kiss against his cheek. His parents were never affectionate before, and as happy as he is with everyone’s changes, his fifteen-year-old self is cringing watching them be that way. But it’s only in the best way, his family having felt like a family for two years now, and no part of him would trade things to go back to how they were.
Eventually dinner is served and everyone sits down at the large table, silverware clicking against plates and the laughter and chatter in the home only increasing the more people drink (except for he and Emma of course because he does abstain in solidarity sometimes). There’s several stories about Liam told, some he’d never heard before, and his stomach hurts from laughter. God, his brother was such a crack up, something he never really knew, and he wishes they’d gotten along all of those years.
But they didn’t. There was too much of an age discrepancy, too much of a difference in wants out of life, and most of all, too much hostility. He loves his brother, something that took him a long time to admit, but Liam’s not perfect. He can still be a bloody git and they still argue over some things, but he’s changed. And while there are still flashes of the day he came to this very home to confront his brother, to try to work things through only to be rejected and told that Liam’s only trying to do better for his children, he’s come to terms with it. They can’t change the past. They can’t take things away or add words left unsaid, but forgiveness even when the other person doesn’t deserve it is a powerful thing.
Or so he’s been learning over the past few years.
This is infinitely better than any life he could have lived away from his parents and his brother. And he’d have given it all up for Emma. There’s no doubt about it, and he still fully believes that. She’s worth it all. But this is better.
“Hey,” Emma whispers, rubbing between his shoulder blades before her hand finds the hair at the tape of his neck, causing shivers to run down his spine, “what are you thinking about? You’ve zoned out.”
He hums, closing his eyes before leaning over and kissing her temple, the vanilla of her shampoo invading him. “I was thinking about you.”
“Cheesy.”
“Absolutely. But also the truth. I just…all of these stories about Liam, they make me realize how glad I am that we went through all of that to fix it and came out better on the other side because now I have stories to tell about him like that.”
“I thought you were thinking about me.”
“Well, that came after thinking about my brother.”
“That’s kind of gross.”
“Yeah, well, I was thinking about how I’m glad we’re here, but I’d still give it all up for you. And for the little love, my love.”
“Well,” Emma smiles, tangling their fingers together under the table, “the good thing is that you don’t have to. We’re all a big, messy, wonderful package that you get for the rest of your life whether you like it or not.”
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The Rose of Highgarden. On Margaery Tyrell (part 5)
This is the fifth installment of my analysis of Margaery Tyrell and her narrative arc in Game of Thrones (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4). In this post I’m going to take a look at her costumes in season 3. I have previously analysed her costumes in season 2, which were rather unconventional when compared to what was worn by the other female characters of noble birth. Margaery’s season 2 costumes were bold, provocative and rather avantgarde within the sartorial profile of the female nobles of Westeros. The costumes also caused some controversy among the audience of the show. At least one particular costume (the infamous cone dress) was deemed ridiculous and anachronistic since it was obviously inspired by contemporary fashion, more specifically the iconic Bell Dress that Alexander McQueen created for Björk.
While the costumes do serve to as part of the world-building, their function goes beyond looking pretty or period-specific, especially in a fantasy show - even if the world of Westeros is loosely based on medieval Europe.
Clapton approaches costume design from a narrative stand point. What the characters wear is part of the visual language of the story as well as a reflection of the characters and their narrative arcs.
This is something that Clapton repeated stresses in her interviews:
I always try to make the clothes visually tell something. (FIDM Museum Blog)
I always try to tell that story — the costumes for me are narrative and you should be able to look at them [the characters] and understand where they are mentally in their journey. (Insider)
“I don’t think any costume should be looked at in isolation, rather, through the arc of the character. Each thing will tell a story. It might look like a costume is wrong, but actually it’s supposed to look like that. It’s telling you something about the character at the time.” (Winter is Coming)
The costumes are part and parcel of the visual narrative - they echo the psychological journeys of the characters, both in terms of how the characters see themselves or what they want to project, but sometimes they may even subtly foretell future plot points (x).
GIRLISHLY SEXY
As the betrothed of King Joffrey, Margaery sports a new and slightly changed wardrobe in season 3. Gone are the the avantgarde shoulder pieces and gowns. Instead, we are presented with a number of dresses cut from the same template:
A sleeveless wrap-like bodice of patterned cloth with a deep v-neck, a bare back and discretely structured shoulders.
Flowing skirts of lightweight material.
The waist is emphasized by beribboned borders or a metal belt in the shape of a rose on a thorny vine.
The necklines have become less revealing than they were is season 2, though she still shows a bit of cleavage. However, she still shows quite a bit of skin with her sleeveless dresses that also feature cut-outs that bares her back and sometimes her midriff and shoulders.
Hogan McLaughling states the issue quite succinctly:
With Joffrey, Margaery’s approach is the polar opposite of the avant-garde mindset with her now-murdered husband Renly. Her gowns are still beautiful feats of fashion, but the focus is less on the dress and more on her body. (Watchers on the Wall)
The cut-outs offer tantalizing glimpses of her bare skin - these are the dresses of a seductress, and seduction is what Margaery is about in season 3. She is not content with being just a pretty face next to her kingly husband. She wants influence! I have previously discussed how she employs a feminine form of soft power through charity in order to make the people love her - but her sexual charm is another weapon that she strategically deploys in order to bind Joffrey to her. Seduction is another form of soft power, a very intimate one. Cersei is certainly right on the money when she tells Joffrey that Margaery dresses like a “harlot” for a reason.
The sexy silhouettes of Margaery’s dresses are tempered by the soft baby-blue colour, which is carried over from season 2. The baby-blue colour adds a girlish aspect to the flirty dresses, which perfectly corresponds to the studied way that Margaery performs the role of the innocent, bashful and unambitious maid. I have previously mentioned how Clapton used a very similar shade for one of Sansa’s northern dresses in season 1. However, unlike Sansa, Margaery’s maidenly innocence is simply a facade. She might claim to be a virgin in public but the previous season made it clear that she is a confident and sexually experienced woman.
A NEW POLITICAL PLAYER IN KING’S LANDING
As mentioned above, Clapton designs the costumes in relation to character arcs, so the costuming evolves subtly. One of Clapton’s patterns is to reuse a costume from the end of the previous season in the beginning of the new one in order to create a sense of continuity.
Thus, in Margaery’s very first scene in season 3, she’s wearing the dress she wore in the season 2 finale - but with a little tweak. In this case, she wears light blue wrap over her seductive blue dress, which conceals the plunging neckline and serves to introduce a Margaery who is a bit more modest in her attire than the last time we saw her.
She keeps to the light blue colour but as the season progresses, the discrete silver pattern on her bodices is replaced by a bolder floral pattern in bright gold.
The decorative elements become more bold, more golden and more ostentatious - and all of this signals the wealth of the Tyrells. That wealth, based on the agricultural bounty of the Reach, is one of the reasons why they are poised to put their favoured daughter on the throne as Queen Consort. The visual prominence of the golden details on the Tyrell costumes reaches its zenith at the wedding between Sansa Stark and Tyrion Lannister in episode 8.
Now the Tyrell gold almost rivals the famed Lannister gold - and thus the costumes visually highlight the conversation between Cersei and Margaery where Cersei not very subtly warns Margaery about what happens when upstart Houses presume to rival the Lannisters.
At the wedding Margaery, Loras and Olenna Tyrell share a colour palette of dusty blue and bright gold in heavy, patterned fabrics. Visually, they create a coherent whole - a united front, politically, where all the family members work together towards a common goal. Thus, their familial and political unity is expressed visually through the costuming.
Clapton makes another highly symbolic addition to Margaery’s costumes in season 3. The sigil of House Tyrell is a golden rose and throughout the season we see her wearing accessories that feature the Tyrell rose. She wears rings in the shape of a rose - but her metallic belt with a centrally placed rose on a thorny vine is perhaps the most ostentatious example of Margaery adorning herself with her House sigil.
One would think that a noble wearing their family sigil wouldn’t be a big deal but in this case it is - because Margaery didn’t wear the Tyrell rose when she was married to Renly Baratheon, a man who called himself king. She only begins to wear her House sigil in the form of a silver pendant when she arrives in King’s Landing in the last episode of season 2.
So Margaery’s rose shaped accessories only make an appearance after she’s betrothed to King Joffrey. This is not a coincidence! This is not just a case of some pretty accessories, this is a subtle political statement, highlighting that Margaery is working not just for herself but also for the interests of her family. The entire marriage is an expression of Tyrell ambition.
Sure, Margaery wants to be Queen but her father is also pushing hard for this marriage. Neither is Margaery the only Tyrell to wear those rose: both her brother Loras and her grandmother Olenna wears the golden rose. Loras wears a beautiful pin whereas Olenna wears a belt much like Margaery’s (only with more thorny vines) as well as a beautiful golden pattern on one of her blue brocade dresses. Throughout the season the Tyrells have made their presence as new power players felt in King’s Landing - a daughter of their House is poised become Queen, they are feeding the people, winning public affection and their wealth is helping the Lannister regime stay afloat. The prominence of the rose on the Tyrell costumes articulates their status as political power players visually - the golden rose looks set to challenge the golden lion.
A GAME OF CLOTHES
During season 3, Margaery emerges as a political power player in King’s Landing - something Cersei Lannister finds particularly aggravating. Margaery and Cersei stand in opposition to each other since they both seek to influence, even control the king - and Cersei constantly complains about Margaery manipulating Joffrey. She isn’t wrong but she’s the only one who thinks this is a bad thing. The opposition between the two women also finds an expression in the costume design, which costume designer Michele Clapton jokingly refers to as a “costume stand-off” between the two ladies (x).
The costumes of Cersei and Margaery are designed to contrast each other. Where Margaery’s dresses are sleeveless, Cersei’s dresses have long and trailing sleeves. Where Margaery’s dresses are made from light, floaty fabrics, Cersei’s are made from heavier velvet and brocades. Even the colours clash as the picture above proves - the soft baby blue of Margaery’s dress stands in a vivid contrast to the deep crimson of Cersei’s gown. According to Clapton, Margaery’s style ought to be seen as a calculated response to Cersei’s style:
But over the seasons she [Margaery] has refined her look as she has learned how to wield her body to her benefit, explains Clapton. “She honed this look that was girlishly sexy because she could see that it was exactly what Cersei couldn’t do. The more armor and more regal Cersei got, the more girlish and simple Margaery became–very knowing.” (Michele Clapton)
Where Margaery bares her skin, Cersei quite literally covers herself in armour. This particular aspect of the costume design even makes its way into the text itself! In the first episode of the season, Margaery and Loras attends a private dinner party with Joffrey and Cersei. When Joffrey praises Margaery’s rather daring gown, Cersei sees an opportunity to slip in a sarcastic dig at Margaery’s revealing dress:
Cersei: I imagine you might be rather cold.
Margaery deftly deflects Cersei’s snide remark with a sexually charged double-entendre when Joffrey offers to have a shawl brought for her.
Margaery: I’m touched by your concern, Your Grace. Luckily for us Tyrells our blood is quite warm.
Then Margaery returns the “favour” by praising Cersei’s gown, especially the metalwork, i.e. the armour.
Cersei: You might find a bit of armor quite useful once you become queen. Perhaps before.
Cersei’s armoured dresses visually expresses how beleaguered she feels now that Margaery has arrived. Cersei is on the defensive as she can see her already diminished influence over Joffrey disappear. She feels threatened by Margaery, which becomes very clear throughout the season. Curiously enough, the wide boat-neck of Cersei’s gowns in season 3 looks very similar to the neckline of Margaery’s infamous cone dress from season 2. This was a dress Margaery only wore twice, and in both situations she were in a defensive position, either deflecting Petyr Baelish’s prying into the state of her marriage or trying to do damage control after Renly’s murder (x).
Margaery’s dresses might seem deceptively simple but when we take a close look at the costumes in relation to the character and the story, these garments say a lot more than what was initially thought.
To be continued....
#game of thrones#character analysis#margaery tyrell#house tyrell#the rose of highgarden#cersei lannister#natalie dormer
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The King in the Nort and the Legitimacy
Ok, greetings to all. I present my first meta on how not? Game of Thrones, which involves how not? Jon and Sansa. Although I must clarify that this is not a meta Jonsa properly, but one focused on a point that caught my attention for two reasons, and has to do with Jon giving up his crown to get the support of Daenerys, and the subsequent claim of the lords from the north for it.
Well, start.
I was watching an excerpt from the last chapter of the sixth season, when Jon is proclaimed King in the North. And, it is seeing again that chapter or part of it, when I understand the claim of Lyanna Mormont.
“A summary"
Lord Royce: "You can not expect the Knights of the Valley to side with savage invaders"
Tormund: "We did not invade them, we were invited"
Lord Royce: "Not for me ..."
The implied invitation of the savages was made by Jon Snow to Tormund, who chose to follow him once he was resurrected. However, even though Tormund was in the Battle of the Bastards and killed Lord Umber, leader of a faction following Ramsay Bolton, this does not seem to matter to Lord Royce, who despite having shared a battle with Tormund and having bled on the same side, does not recognize the allies legitimized by Jon Snow himself.
In other words, Lord Royce does not recognize Jon as leader, since, by family or political affinity, he seems to be closer to Sansa, niece of his old lady of the Valley, cousin of the current lord, daughter of one of the pupils of Jon Arryn, whom he personally knew: Ned Stark, and is likely to fight alongside them in Robert's Rebellion.
Obviously all this is speculation, but if you see the chapters of previous seasons, you will know that it is logical to reach that conclusion.
Now, a point that I must clarify is how important that term is: legitimacy, for a person to have access to or have a position of power over others, these others must legitimize and authorize or yield to the influence of this to fold before the that the future leader wants or wants to do without having to resort to coercion to achieve his goals.
So, we have this scenario: Lord Royce does not recognize the legitimacy of Jon Snow and therefore questions that there are savages in Westeros, despite the merits of Tormund himself. Therefore, it is feasible that all the decisions taken from that moment on may be questioned by Lord Royce, who is not any man, at least in the series has been shown as the leader of the Knights of the Valley, coming (deceived or not by Littlefinger) before the call of Sansa, and by orders of the current Lord of the Valey; Robin Arryn, who is convinced by Littlefinger to go to the aid of his cousin.
That said, we have someone who has been legitimized, at least by Royce, as a leader but who prefers to stay out of these matters on a voluntary basis, perhaps without a clear awareness of what he can or can not achieve.
Obviously I mean Sansa.
But let's continue.
In the first season, when Robb is named King of the North, it is this same who, at the suggestion of one of his vassals to fold his banner to Renly, delegitimizes the position of the minor of the Baratheon, in favor of Stannis. When considering it contrary to the law or tradition, and therefore even accepting the suggestion that the younger brother is king before the eldest, and to exemplify it, he puts himself in that place and points out that Renly, like Brann can not usurp the place of his older brothers.
It is contrary to tradition, the law. And for Robb illegitimate (and yes, I will use this word the whole article) under that scenario he will not fold.
It is when Granjon Umber rises and delegitimizes again, not only the Baratheons, but all the southern kings, alluding to the fact that they know nothing of the Forest of the Wolves or of the Wall, in synthesis and in front of the other de-legitimated lords, according to his ignorance of the North, to all the gentlemen who fight for the Iron throne.
He even points out that they are even interested in the Throne, or aspire to it. They want an independent kingdom and only then recognizes the authority of Robb on issues that concern the North, this must be added that this meeting is after the battle of the Forest of Whispers where they capture Jaime Lannister and where Robb showed a exceptional expertise to be so young.
All these points lead the other bannermen, to follow him and declare him King in the North since Robb, like Jon, neither demanded nor asked.
He was legitimized before and by his bannermens and he responded accordingly.
Returning to Jon and the Lords of the North, post Battle of the Bastards.
Since Royce is not recognizing Jon, or Tormund publicly, Jon understands that if that discussion continues, dissidence could be provoked, which is what he least needs at that moment with a greater threat looming over the North.
Jon: "The free people (do not call them savages), those of the north, and the knights of the north, we peel with courage (extolling the characteristics of those who fought), fight together and win (achieve a common goal). My father said that true friends are on the battlefield (all have fought and bled together as allies, unites them in a common experience for a common goal and thus motivates them to see themselves more as equals than as separate groups)*
* I want to stop here and make a small comment: I want to highlight the words of Jon before the vassals of the Stark house and how he treats them, if someone who sees or reads what I saw and read and still does not believe in the PolJon, really He is blind and nothing can be done.
Lord Cerwyn: The Boltons have been defeated, the war is over, winter has arrived. If the masters are right, it will be the coldest of the last thousand years. We must go home and wait for the storms that will come.
Jon: The war did not end. And I assure you friend (on an equal basis, despite not having fought in the battle of the bastards) that the real enemy will not wait for the storm to pass. He brings the storm.
Murmurs, words, unbelieving faces and before the incredulity, the questioning.
Now focusing on the character of the Northerners, it is almost certain that all of them have heard either oral tradition or their young children, songs or rumors, about the walkers, it is part of the tradition of each area to have their legends.
But it is also possible that, like Ned Stark, he did not believe it at the time, that the bannermens doubt Jon's words. Why not? In the north, as we have seen, it is allowed or at least not punished with death by disobeying his lord. At least Jon, in what has been seen as Lord of Winterfell and Sansa in turn, are not in favor of "cutting heads" if not to seek to work together.
Another section: I will not make reference to Janos Slynt, since I believe, the circumstances of the wall with Jon being newly elected as lord vary from his situation in Winterfell, the assassination of Janos did not exist the security and certainty of the Nigth King's army and neither Jon nor Sansa can afford to kill or execute lords, when they need them and their men.
Then we have a glimmer of doubt, in a scenario in which Jon needs to be believed and listened to by his bannermens. It is here where the ghost of his mother comes back to help him.
Lyanna: "His son was murdered at the Red Wedding, Lord Manderly, but he rejected the call. I swear allegiance to the Stark house, Lord Glover, but in the moment of greatest need, I reject the call. And you, Lord Cerwyn, your father was skinned alive by Ramsay Bolton. And still he rejected the call. But the Mormont house remembers. The north remembers. We do not know any king other than the King in the North, whose name is Stark ...
Obviously Lyanna was not there when Robb was named king in the north, it is more likely that considering the years and seasons elapsed, she would have no more than 4 or 5 years (2 or 3 in the books). Maege her mother, was part of that meeting, in the books, her sister Dacey, Robb's bodyguard, was hacked to death in the Red Wedding, it is possible that it was for her counselors and servants, but Lyanna knows what happened to her family and she remembers, in books she even reminds him of Stannis.
... I do not care if he's a bastard, Ned Stark's blood runs through his veins. He is my king from this day until his last day "
And this is when legitimacy once again appears.
To be more specific, in this particular case, I think that out of all his merits the fact of being recognized as the son of Ned Stark, is what gives more weight to his appointment. It seems to me that at this point Jon is ... touched, and Davos and Tormund surprised, it is the first time that something like a positive acknowledgment of being the son (bastard) of Ned Stark appears shouted aloud and in front of bannermens and knigths, where the condition that always was a burden for him, like being a bastard did not matter to anyone.
But let's continue.
Lord Manderly: Lady Mormont speaks harshly and truthfully. My son died for Robb Stark, the Young Wolf. I thought we would not find another King while I lived. I did not entrust my men to your cause because I did not want another Manderly to die in vain. But Jon Snow was wrong, I'm coming for the Red Wedding. He is the White Wolf. The king in the north.
Lord Glover: I did not fight at your side on the battlefield and I will regret it until the day I die. A man can only admit that he was wrong and ask for forgiveness.
Jon: There's nothing to forgive, my lord. (He does not bask in the humiliation of another who scorned him or did not recognize any legitimacy in him before, again PolJon)
Lord Glover: There will be more fights to come, the Glover house will back the Stark house as we have done for a thousand years. And I'll support Jon Snow ... The king in the north!
This complete scene reflects the two positions with respect to those who choose to submit either by will, tradition or conviction to a third one, voluntarily and without questioning. No, at least at first.
It is where a government is legitimized, trusting that it will do its best for them and for them. It is an independent statement of a group of leaders, to be able to resolve their issues, or failing to face a future enemy.
Retaking.
So we have this group of people with certain amount of power , agree on a point. Until they are abandoned to go in search of help. Then pass, we believe that months, before having news and nobody has been informed of anything.
When leaving Winterfell, Jon leaves his position in the hands of whom he believes most capable of governing in his place, and who therefore would correspond "there must always be a Stark in Winterfell" and this is accepted by his lords, who again fold and they legitimize Ned Stark's daughter to lead them during that time.
And it is here where I must make clear, what I believe of all the exposed and the questions that are seen in the first chapter, regarding the position of Sansa. She, who else has listened to the bannermens during the time Jon was away, knows them. He tells Arya that he must keep them together so that on his return Jon has an army to lead. And act on that. While Jon is questioned for his absence, Sansa does his best to work together.
That's why, i truly believe, she was relatively annoyed to receive, as the first news that Jon had bent the knee, I do not think she was interested in titles as much or more than Jon.
What I believe, is that by folding and legitimizing Daenerys, Jon is undermining the legitimacy that the lords of the north, the trust that deposited in him. And with it the debacle whether or not to follow a "King" who gives the confidence of his vassals in a third to which they do not know. What could finally end in these decide to retire together with their men.
This parallel to all that is the feelings, I am sure she has in him, because yes, I believe in the Jonsa, and I will be happy when I see him.
But, again focusing.
In view of the appointment of Jon by Lyanna as king in the north and as the rest of the bannermens folded to his call, I understand that she looked so upset and questioned so hard, knowing that all that speech was given in vain. Or more than the speech itself, what this meant, leaving in doubt how legitimate is the right of Jon Snow, to lead the lords (proud, distrustful and capricious, all if you want) and maintain their army.
I do not think it's because of the titles. I think it's out of jealousy, obviously but also that, leaning against Dany, Jon gave his legitimacy, to a southern governor, who are openly despised by the northern lords, who also have not seen the King of the Night's army and only consider his way of doing things as valid.
We have then Jon and Sansa struggling to maintain wills that, perhaps, no longer feel so comfortable to follow them, together. And achieve with it a common goal.
Perhaps they will change their minds when the king of the night arrives, and Daenerys will show her full strength in the battle, or perhaps they will never do it, even with the King of the night knocking at the door. We will not know until the end of the season.
What, if true, is that you are dealing with something greater than human nature and it is man`s vanity, pride and stubornnes. Is there someone who can come out unscathed or do everything perfect under those circumstances? I do not think so. You can only do your best. And for that, unfortunately, the desire or good intentions are not enough.
Any comment?
For the English-speaking readers, I regret if the translation does not make sense to them. I can write in English, but not very well and I resort to the almighty and infamous gloogle translator.
Greetings.
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2018 post because I still want to and it’s on my to-do list
I'm sure at this point no one but me cares considering we're fully two months into 2019 but whatever, I want to record it for posterity, because there were a lot of things in 2018 that I did for the first time and that's kind of important. (”this will be brief!” I said, you know, like a liar.)
I finally got a tattoo. I've been talking about it for years but never figured out exactly what I wanted or where, and even once I figured out what I wanted ("all we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us," which has been important to me in different ways for years) I didn't know exactly how I wanted it to look, because it can be tough to make text tattoos look good and I’m not an artist or a graphic designer. and then Scully was diagnosed with kidney disease and I realized, oh yeah, his paw print, there's an obvious one. my tiny little semi-colon (of which I apparently never took a decent picture) was also pretty obvious once I started looking for something small I could do as a test tattoo, although the way things worked out I got them both at the same time. the whole process was...kind of odd? but instead of just talking about it I finally actually made it happen, and it hurt but not, like, unbearably, and now I have a piece of my furry little boy that goes everywhere with me, which was especially important after he died.
I did way more political volunteering than I ever have before. I always feel like I'm not doing enough and compared to people who volunteered with campaigns every single day, I guess I'm not, but I still did a lot in 2018 compared to any previous year: lots of donations to multiple Democrat candidates and progressive organizations, textbanking for several candidates across the US, sign-waving and even phonebanking for the Alaska Democrats, poll watching on election night for the Alaska Democrats, at least a few hundred handwritten postcards to voters for a few more candidates, data entry for the campaign against a local bathroom bill last spring (I keep forgetting that happened in 2018 too because, you know, 2018 was about a decade long), going to several local anti-Kavanaugh demonstrations and the like, leaving lots of voicemails for my legislators and bugging other people to do the same (with varying levels of success), and maybe other stuff I'm forgetting. which is all good, because actually doing shit is vastly preferable to just going "wow everything is terrible and we're all gonna die" both in terms of actual impact and my mental health. the unfortunate part is that after doing as much as I did for the 2018 midterms--whether or not I really actually did enough, whatever "enough" might be--I got pretty well burned out, especially because...all the candidates I did the most work for DID NOT WIN so that made it feel kinda pointless (even though we took back the House and I was so relieved about that I could’ve cried). especially locally where Alaskans did the stupid thing and 1) kept Don Young and 2) elected a Trump wannabe with almost no experience as our governor because he made promises that any idiot should've been able to see he wouldn't be able to keep. but...I still worked hard for causes and people I care about, and I devoted a pretty significant amount of time and money, and I got out of my comfort zone with last-weekend phonebanking, and none of that is nothing.
I joined a gym and started going there fairly regularly. as usual I want to qualify this, because "30 minutes on the elliptical once or twice a week" is not exactly an amazing workout, and I haven't been as good at going regularly since I finished TAZ: Balance, but like...it's still a new thing that I went out of my way to do, and it was a positive change toward taking care of myself physically.
related: I...finished a podcast? I'm bad at podcasts (see also: I'm two or three years behind on Welcome to Night Vale, the only other podcast where I've listened to more than one or two episodes), but the Balance arc of The Adventure Zone is amazing and it basically let me trick myself into wanting to work out so I could listen to more. (unfortunately, Amnesty and MBMBAM haven't been as effective this way, I think because MBMBAM is hilarious but there's no narrative and therefore no "oh shit what's gonna happen next" suspense, and Amnesty is great but it's just...less zany, I guess. constant zany goofs are great for distracting me from the fact that I'm doing generally unpleasant physical activity.) now maybe if I could find a site like GoodReads for podcasts, which apparently doesn’t exist yet, maybe I’d do better at remembering and then listening to all the podcasts I’ve heard of that interest me...although I still don’t know what would be useful for workouts to give me that all-important combo of zany goofs (made by people who are not horrible) and suspenseful narrative.
I got back into conventions and cosplay for the first time in six years, which is kind of dumb because I was never that deep into cosplay in the first place and I'm still not, and the vast majority of cons I've attended have been tiny local ones...but I did do several attempts at varying levels of quality starting back in college, and I put together some complicated-by-my-standards outfits for SDCC 2012, and then I didn't do any cosplay at all until last year when I semi-spontaneously decided to go to ECCC. I only did two for that one (AoU Wanda, and Avengers Academy Loki) but they involved more actual work than any previous cosplays and I was pretty proud of how they turned out. and then I kind of went "oh hey, cons and cosplay are fun, I forgot", so I did a very simple cosplay for one tiny local con and two that were much more complicated (Stuttgart Loki and The Final Pam) for our larger local con, and it was a lot of work and I'm not 100% happy with how I looked as Pam but the handful of people thrilled to recognize me made it worthwhile. also my Loki staff is damned cool and I look great in suits.
I got contacts! for the very first time! LITERALLY JUST FOR COSPLAY! I've worn glasses since I was about two so I don't remember my adjustment period and I've never had much desire to try contacts, and with past cosplays I just kind of shrugged and wore my glasses anyway, but after ECCC I wanted to Do It Right so...I got contacts. it kind of sucked actually! after the week or so where I was supposed to wear them to get used to them, I literally have not worn them except for the local convention! it turns out contacts will never be a great idea for me because astigmatism is wacky! but now I have contacts I can use for future cosplays, and it's another new thing outside my comfort zone where I went "you know, actually, I could do this thing" and then I made it happen, which is...sort of a big deal for me.
I played Silent Hill 3 and 2, in that order, which is not that big of a deal but still feels like something of a milestone for me, because a) actually finishing a game is embarrassingly rare for me and b) I feel like...they're so well known and such a part of gaming canon, so to speak, that finally playing a couple classic games I previously only knew by osmosis is sort of significant actually. also I love them both in different ways, and discovering a new favorite game series is always fun.
I said goodbye to Scully. this was...not a fun one, obviously, and in fact those last few days were completely fucking awful. but, well, it was a big thing that happened, and it was new in my experience. like I said (a lot) at the time, I realize it's a sign of how lucky I've been that Scully was my hardest personal loss so far, but that doesn't change the fact that it was, and...of course it was hard and horrible. he was my furry little boy, he was unquestionably family, he was a huge part of my life every day for 9 years. I took care of him as well as I could for as long as I could, and then I made the most compassionate decision I could, and for the most part I was able to focus on remembering the joy he brought me instead of just how much it hurt to lose him. (I've also said this before but I think dealing with Loki in Infinity War helped with Scully, because I'd already done some work on my unhealthy tendencies toward hopelessness in the face of, you know, things ending.) and then I found Hazy, and that's been hard in different ways but she's also worth it, and I think I can train her enough that other people will actually get to see how silly and adorable and sweet she is instead of just BARK BARK BARK.
I more or less kept up with my writing goals of posting at least one new thing a month? I guess this is an accomplishment rather than a first, since it's something I've been mostly successful in doing for the last few years, but it's still notable. also it does involve a first, because until I will kiss you till your breath is found I'd never written anything even semi-explicit (well, I very vaguely described a couple sex scenes in my Crimson Peak fic a few years ago but that was...VERY vague) and then I wrote several thousand words of fucked-up dubcon sort-of-p0rn and fairly shortly followed it up with another one. so that's a thing I've done now I guess. (is it actually explicit if you never really, directly reference anyone's genitals but it's still obvious what's happening and also it's fucked-up sex stuff? I don't know but at this point I'm definitely still too squeamish to use certain words in my fics. is that because I'm hella ace or because I grew up hella repressed in purity culture? BOTH PROBABLY)
and then there are my goals for 2019! or rather the rest of 2019 but it's cool because I got started on a couple of these pretty much right away!
cut my hair real short. already done! in fact this was basically the first thing I did in 2019, because I made the appointment Jan. 1 and got my hair cut Jan. 2! kind of like the tattoo, this is something I've been wanting to do, and talking about wanting to do, for ages and I've never actually gone for it; the shortest I've gotten my hair cut was basically chin-length, more than once, because I'd go in like "I kind of really want a pixie cut or something similar but idk if that would work on me without adding a bunch of time and Product to my morning routine so maybe I shouldn't?" and the stylists were always like "yeah you shouldn't, a good pixie for your face shape is not wash-and-wear hair" so I never did it even though I kept wanting to just...cut all my fucking hair off. and then this December I kind of went, wait, I got a TATTOO with less angst than this and that's permanent. I CAN CUT MY HAIR. IT GROWS BACK. so I got all my fucking hair cut off. it's not perfect because a short cut really does take more maintenance, from what I'm told (I got it cut the first week of January, so...probably I should have scheduled a trim by now), and I really would prefer to continue paying almost no attention to my hair while still looking generally okay, and the bits in front fall in my eyes and piss me off if I don't pin them back (I did buy the hair wax stuff the stylist suggested that was supposed to sort of lightly anchor it in place but it just never worked for very long, so...pins), BUT it is very nice not constantly catching my hair in my purse strap and stuff like that, and also I'm more visibly queer with short hair and that's definitely a plus.
train Hazy. this is a work in progress. it took a while to get signed up for an actual class and then I had to go with one for reactive dogs specifically, and so far I've only been to two sessions, just one of which involved Hazy, and then I've been trying to do other stuff at home, and...well, it's a work in progress. but she's a good dog who just needs to learn to chill a little bit, and I should've trained Scully and didn't so I'm trying to do things right this time.
specifically, I would like to get her trained enough that she can accompany me to Pride in June, wearing her adorable Wonder Woman harness and cape. given that she is not great with individual strange humans and strange dogs, taking her into a big crowd of both would definitely result in a screaming meltdown if I did it now and it may or may not be realistic to hope I'll be able to get enough improvement on that in time. but that's the goal. if it doesn't work, there's always next year, I guess.
also, I want to make myself a flying ace costume for Pride. this may or may not be much more complicated than I anticipate.
speaking of costumes, I'm planning to go back to both local conventions this year, and I imagine I'll reuse my Stuttgart Loki outfit at least once but it would be nice to do at least one other new cosplay. Heather/Cheryl from Silent Hill 3 seems like it should be straightforward but Value Village hasn't provided me with any of the pieces yet so who knows.
post more to @alaska-gothic because I have a bunch of cool photos I'd like to have a place to show off (and I've taken a lot of new pictures, some in VERY cold weather, for this exact purpose)
finish more games. in practice this might turn into "play more short games while continuing to neglect long games" but I want to make my list of completed games longer and I also want to PLAY MORE GAMES in general because it's a thing I really like, and it's possibly the only thing I do that's purely for my own enjoyment, and I want to make more time for that. also I want to finish SWTOR’s existing singleplayer content because, I mean, it’s an eight-year-old(!!!) MMO so its remaining time is probably limited by default and it’s fucking ridiculous I’ve been a subscriber for at least seven years without even finishing all the class storylines, what the actual fuck Past Me. (I also want to make more time for console games specifically, because those are almost definitely easier on my body and I can do them while cuddling with Hazy on the couch. unfortunately this also generally requires me having the place to myself, which is kind of a rare thing that is also necessary for comfortably working on customs or writing, so...opportunities are limited.)
speaking of games: finish buying the parts to upgrade my computer and then upgrade my fucking computer, and also back up my fucking files
finish a long fic? or honestly if I can even finish more short fics that would be great. really just...make progress on the WIP list. especially if I can finish some IW-specific fics before Endgame comes out. that would be super cool of me.
get another tattoo. I still want that LotR quote but I don't know how I want it to look so who knows when that might happen. HOWEVER, I've been wanting something queer, and I very much loved Foxflight Studios’ "we fight as one" design, and when I asked the designer if she was okay with me getting it as a tattoo she said yes. so at least with that I wouldn't have to figure out a design. I do of course have to figure out a) where I want it (ideally, somewhere normally covered by clothes but where I can see it if I want to, and where a person might conceivably keep a real dagger) and b) how much more it's going to hurt/cost than the paw print considering it would have to be bigger and it has a lot more colors and linework.
do some travel around Alaska. I've lived here for nearly my entire life and I really haven't seen that much of my own state. more importantly there are a few extremely cool places within theoretical driving distance, like Kennicott, Igloo City, and abandoned military installations near Seward, and I want to visit them. @erlkonigstochter and I had vague plans to do this last year and it never materialized (although I did visit Nike Site Summit on my own), so...this year I intend to try harder to make that happen, especially since I have no current plans of traveling out of state.
put more stuff on Etsy (and figure out how to advertise them?). in particular there are a bunch more things I want to repaint in various Pride colors, in part because those are way easier than custom Funko figures. of course, a lot of these things are kinda technically copyright infringement which means somehow I have to figure out how to make more sales of the easier things without drawing the attention of any corporations (and/or shift my focus to things that aren't under copyright of some kind but that's probably more complicated).
but also do more personal projects. I have so many partially finished custom figures, and so many other figures I bought specifically to customize but haven't touched since, and it would be cool to actually...do something with some of those. especially because several of my WIPs/plans are more Lokis, and I need all the Lokis, and there are not many more left that I can buy.
figure out how to motivate myself to work out more and keep up with PT exercises, see above re: needing a better replacement for the magic of TAZ Balance whoops
get a therapist and work on ADHD issues, because I'm increasingly convinced that ADHD issues are at the root of the vast majority of my other issues (depression, anxiety, etc.), and that I would be immeasurably improving every aspect of my life if I could make some progress on that aspect. the difficulty, of course, is that finding a therapist is kind of complicated and difficult, and also I don't really want to add yet another regular appointment to my schedule when I already don't have enough time after work to do all the things I want and/or need to do, but...this one thing could go a long way toward helping me actually do all those other things, so obviously this is a time investment I really need to make. although probably not until I've made serious progress with Hazy's separation anxiety because that also makes it hard to go places after work. so uh, I guess we'll see. in the meantime it might be smart if I tried to figure out some kind of self-guided therapy thing I could do. I'm sure there's...something.
just, like, be more intentional about...things. in general. this is a bad goal because it's very nonspecific but it is slightly more specific than "generally do better FFS" so at least there's that.
#2018#2019#goals#idk what to tag this#I should cross-post to DW#I should...cross-post to DW more in general#I did that for a bit and then the site didn't completely die immediately so I kinda forgot
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