#more than wife {clarice}
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HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO BE NORMAL ABOUT THEM WHEN THEY LOOK AT EACH OTHER LIKE THIS
THE LAST ONE
Look at how happy she is, look at how in love with her he is, with her smile, with her being happy!!! *dies*
#more than wife {clarice}#clarenzo#clarice orsini#clarice de medici#clarice and lorenzo#clarice x lorenzo#lorenzo#lorenzo de medici#lorenzo the magnificent#i medici#medici#i medici netflix#medici netflix
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Francesco and Clarice were friends and you can't change my mind
Clarice helping with Francesco's marriage
Francesco being Piero's godfather
Francesco shutting down ANY violence towards Clarice
They were friends.
#medici headcanon#clarice orsini#francesco pazzi#more than a wife#the medici family#giuliano de medici#medici family#cosimo de medici#i medici#pazzi
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the vow - i
summary: you’re betrothed to the future king of Guilder and a fearsome knight is assigned to protect you. medieval au
knight!simon ‘ghost’ riley x princess!reader
warnings: mdni (18+), age gap, violence, arranged marriage, infidelity
next part masterlist
a/n: @/dinalgo on tiktok posted some hc art of knight!ghost and i’m obsessed, so here’s my interpretation of that except I refuse to write in old English, also points if you catch the references I threw in
The sun shines brightly through the large window, the breeze blowing the trees outside your room, for a small moment, the world is quiet, just the songs of morning birds chirping on the balcony fill your ears, there’s no noise, no worries.
The moment is quickly ruined by the sound of your maids bustling into the room, arms full of clothing and various tools, you turn your gaze to them slowly,
“Princess, good morning”
“I’ve told you a hundred times, please use my name”
“The Prince requests that we refer to you by your title m’lady”
“Well we wouldn’t want to upset him would we” Your tone is sarcastic as you make your way over to the women, one of them fixes your bed while the other prepares a bath, setting out your clothes. You step into the warm water, soothing a rag over your muscles to clean yourself before one of the ladies takes over, dumping water over your head to wash your hair. You sit for a few minutes in the water, allowing them to work around you,
“You’re quiet this morning”
“Mm not much on my mind I’m afraid”
“You’re not excited for the festivities?”
“The feast should be nice, I don’t care much for the rest”
“Don’t talk like that” The older woman scolds, Clarice had known you since birth tending to you as a young girl, always by your side while you grew up in court, more a mother to you than your actual mother. “The Prince is handsome, a worthy adversary”
“Yes handsome, but also rude, stubborn, cold, everything I despise”
“With time you will grow to love him”
“I surely doubt that” You scoff
She furrows her eyebrows at you, “There, now let's get you dressed”
She helps you out of the bath over to the other maid, Beatrice, you had known her for less time, her position assigned to you when you came to the court after your engagement was announced. Your Father was the king of Florin, and you as his only child had the unfortunate position of being in an arranged marriage to the Prince of Guilder, the Monarchs of the country being old and weary, their son was to be crowned before the year ended and he needed a wife. Your countries had been at war for years, the violence only ceasing when your engagement had been announced, you had been in Guilder for a week now, hold up in the castle away from the public eye, today was the day that your engagement would be formally announced, a festival for your sake being held on the castle ground, thousands of people crammed inside the grounds all trying to get a look at you and the Prince, the idea made your stomach turn.
Your early years had been spent wandering the grounds of your families castle, the tall stone walls becoming a home after the years you spent in them, you felt sick for your old life, your freedom, you could run around the gardens, ride the horses whenever you wanted back home, but here, every action of yours was watched, criticized, you were told how to look, where to be and when, every part of your life was in the control of the Prince and your Father, you hated it.
You had gotten dressed, your breaths feeling tight due to the corset you wore, another freedom you yearned for was being able to wear clothing of your choosing, now everything was blue and green, the colours of Guilder, always tight on your chest to emphasize your figure, your hair was done up in a knot, a few loose strands falling to tickle your neck and cheeks.
“Beautiful” Clarice says, a soft smile on her face
“I look like a peacock”
“You do not, you’ve grown into such a beautiful woman, my little princess” Her hand is soft on your cheek, you smile at the tender action, always finding comfort in her. “Now, we must go, you’re needed downstairs”
You struggle to take a deep breath, silently cursing the fabric binding your chest as you make your way through the wide halls, they were lined with various adornments, some tapestries, a few swords hung beside scattered candles, it felt cold here, no comfort in the walls, everything was jagged and silver.
“Now, the Prince will introduce you, then the jousting will begin”
“Is anyone from Florin going to be in the duels?”
“I’m not sure my dear, there’s plenty of men from across the countries”
You nod, looping your arms through hers as you walk side by side, you stand at the large opening that leads out to the balcony above the castle grounds, everything is decorated in the countries colours, it’s so formal, you feel like a stranger in your new home, everything so similar yet so different, you had no family here, no friends aside from Clarice, you give her a soft smile before unhooking your arm, waiting for the Prince to announce you before walking out.
You step out onto the balcony, the warm sun hitting your skin, there’s a symphony of clapping and whistling, you look down at hundreds of people, all staring back at you, you wave to them,
“Sit down” The Prince speaks, you turn to him, his face is stoic, there’s no softness in his features, you abide, sitting down in the tall chair next to him. They begin the jousts, two by two the men file out, setting up on their horses, the Prince turns to you with every new competitor, explaining who they were and where they were from, including his personal opinion on the men.
You see a tall man enter the field, his armour pure black, his horse the same, he’s larger than the rest of the competitors, his helmet shaped like a skull, his chest plate donning an emblem you didn’t recognize.
“Who’s that one”
The Prince leans over the balcony to get a better look, eyes squinting in an effort to make out the symbol,
“I’m not sure, must be some farmboy playing make belief”
You respond with a small oh, the knight approaches the balcony, his hand reaching to remove his helmet, the light hits his face, streaking colours through his blonde hair, you can make out a few scars on his face, even from your distance you can see the deep colour of his eyes, his face is firm staring up at you, you’re frozen in your spot, staring back at him, he raises his lance toward you, without thinking you reach behind you, grabbing a ring of flowers held together by a ribbon, and throwing it onto his lance, it falls to the base, the flowers close enough that he could smell their aroma, he says nothing, not even a nod, he simply puts his helmet back on and moves to mount his horse.
You step back, your eyes stuck on him as you return to your seat,
“What was that?”
“Sorry?”
“You gave him your favour”
“Thought the farmboy could use some luck against Ser Michael”
“Ah, yes” The Prince goes on to ramble about the accomplishments of the opponent, his success in battle, how much he admired his bravery, but you aren’t listening, your focus completely taken by the shadowy knight galloping toward the centre of the pit, his lance raised as he thrusts it into his opponent, throwing him off his horse. The crowd erupts in cheers, you swallow thickly as you watch him get off his horse, moving toward you, he kneels in front of you,
“Simon Riley your highness”
“Where do you hail from Ser?” The Prince stands, your eyes are focused on him as he bows his head
“The North, but I am no Ser”
“You’re not a knight? You wear the armour of a knight”
“The armour belonged to my father”
“And where is he, your father?”
“Dead 10 years ago your highness”
“And tell me, why have you come”
“I come to prove my honour, to serve you”
“Very well, you may go”
You watch a few more rounds of jousting, growing bored with the same thing happening, they announce the final duel before urging the groups to attend the feast, you make your way down from the balcony, towards the high tables in the gardens, your eyes roaming over the groups of people, struggling to find a familiar face in the crowd.
“So what did you think?” The Prince asks
“About what?”
“The jousting” He scoffs
“They were all quite good”
“What about that Simon Riley”
You whip your head towards him, “I thought little of him, why?”
“Well he was rather large don’t you think, I might add him to my guard”
“Add him to mine” You speak before thinking
“Why would I add him to yours”
“I have no guard, no one to protect me”
“Well, I’ll arrange for you to choose a guard tomorrow then, perhaps then you’ll finally feel at ease here”
You nod your head, turning quickly from him, you greet the King and Queen, making small conversation about the state of the castle, the blooming bouquets of blue poppies that adorned the various pillars, your eyes are drawn to Simon, his dark appearance a stark contrast to the brightly dressed patrons that mingle around the grounds, you watch him disappear around a corner, it’s not until the Queen calls your name that you realize you had been staring at him the whole time.
“Sorry your majesty, my brain has been a fuzz all week, what did you ask?”
“That’s alright dear, with all the excitement I can hardly focus myself, I was just wondering if you had decided on a dress for the wedding”
“Oh, not yet, you’ve brought so many beautiful options I haven’t been able to decide”
“I understand, we have the best dressmakers here, but do make time to choose, we wouldn't want to delay such an important decision”
“Of course”
She smiles at you, looping her arm through her husbands as they walk on, you stand there, overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of everything happening around you, you had only a week until you were to be wed and you had every decision already made for you, your fiancee and his mother picking out every detail of the wedding down to what bouquet you’d be carrying, they had decided that you would hold a large grouping of the blue poppies you see everywhere, the royal flower of Guilder, no part of the wedding made notice of your heritage, all traces of Florin erased from the ceremony, you were to be wed according to Guilder law rather than the customs of your home.
They had arranged for your father to attend but no one else, claiming that there simply wasn’t space for extra people to join, they had cut you off from your old life completely, forcing you to conform to their way of life, moulding you into the perfect Queen, obedient and meek, you despised it, you longed for your freedom from the confines of the castle.
When the feast ended and you had spoken to all the nobility you needed to, you were escorted back to your quarters, the silence of the large stone walls consuming you once again, no birds singing, no rushing of maids, just you and the night sky. It was late, the dark consuming the outer land in a blanket of shadows as you stood on your balcony looking over the moonlit gardens, that was the only good thing about your new home, a perfect view of the perfect gardens, every shrub perfectly manicured, bending and winding in a maze that led to a small fountain in the centre, each flower a shade of green and blue. Truth be told you didn’t think much of the colours before moving but now, you despised them, every shade a sharp reminder of how you didn’t belong, the colours mocked you as they invaded your eyesight, you huffed a breath to yourself, eyeing the grounds below for any sign of guards.
There was one roaming the grounds, you thought you could easily avoid detection if you were quick, you grab your robe wrapping yourself in it, a small attempt to keep yourself warm from the cool air of the night as you creep towards your door. They were heavy, large slabs of wood, you open in slowly to avoid any creaks, slipping through the opening and rushing down the hallway, there was a small door meant for staff that you entered, making your way down the thin stairs and peering through the door outside, the guard has his back turned, you inch the door open and slide through, quickly moving towards the gardens. You walk under a large arch of shrubs, the smell of the flowers invading your senses, bushes of wolfsbane, oleander and wisteria fill the gardens, all beautiful but deadly, a worthy metaphor for your new home, you roam the isles of the garden, lost in the hidden openings and similar corners.
After a few minutes, you find yourself in the middle, a tall fountain in front of you, it’s stunning, the intricate details of the stone swirling as the water crashes into the pool, you sit in the grass, listening to the sound, letting it relax you, finally a break from the quiet that wasn’t the screaming of citizens, or the demeaning words of your future mother-in-law. You close your eyes, the grass tickles your skin as you relax, breathing in the fresh air, you hear a small rustle in the grass, breaking you from your state, you turn your ear to the noise, calling out quietly to see if anyone was there. There was no reason for anyone to be in the gardens at this hour, in fact, the Prince practically forbade it, you stand slowly, following the rustling noise, peeking around a corner you see a quick movement turning the corner, moving faster you approach it, your heartbeat heavy as you near, you turn to find the culprit and let out a small gasp, a small white rabbit was sat, chewing on some shrubs, you kneel down extending your hand towards it.
“Come here little guy, these gardens aren’t safe for you” It hops toward you, nearly touching your hand before it turns on its heel and sprints away, you furrow your brows in confusion,
“They aren’t safe for you either Princess”
Your breath stops, you feel the looming figure behind you as you slowly stand, you heartbeat now thrumming in your ears, you turn to face him, he almost melts into the darkness of the garden, his armour pitch black,
“You should get back inside”
Goosebumps cover your skin, your breaths shallow as you stare at him, you back up slowly, turning around to move through the gardens, you turn around the corners, trying to find your way out, your feet carry you through the grass, you follow the lights inside the windows, trying to get out. You rush towards the exit, eyes focused on the light as you collide with the guard, stumbling into him,
“I’m sorry”
“Princess? What are you doing outside?”
“I just needed some air” Your breathes are shaky as he scans your face,
“Is everything alright?”
“Yes, completely, just need to go back inside I think the air was a little too cold”
“Well hurry in then” He nods, stepping aside to let you pass, you move past him hastily, opening the doors inside you make your way back up the stairs, you enter your room and release a breath, rushing towards your balcony to try and catch a glimpse of him. Your eyes scan the gardens, the night doing its job of concealing anything within the green walls, you see nothing, no movement anywhere, it's like he wasn’t even there, you think you imagined him, his deep voice ringing in your ears as you lay in your bed.
The next morning was calm, you woke early to the sound of your maids making their way inside, Clarice helping you dress and doing your hair while Beatrice makes your bed, tidying the room.
“Exciting day today” Clarice says
“What do you mean?”
“The Prince has arranged for you to pick a guard, I suppose he fears a possible war and wants you safe”
You nod at her, “I don’t believe the Prince fears for my safety as much as you do” you whisper, she shushes you, her eyes darting to Beatrice to make sure she didn’t hear, “Bite your tongue child”. You let out a small giggle, amused by how concerned she is, allowing her to finish your hair before you make your way to the throne room, you enter through the massive doors to a room of scattered men, all donning their house armour, you look around and see no sight of the dark knight. You stand atop the small set of stairs, looking down at the men as they announce themselves one by one, giving you their names and listing all their accomplishments, victories in battle, how they were undefeated in jousting in their home. You’re bored after an hour of their bragging, your mind oblivious to the fact that you have to choose one of them to be around you for hours at a time, an older man stands to speak but is interrupted by the sound of the doors opening, everyone turns their heads at the sound, their eyes widening at the sight of the tall man clad in black, he keeps his helmet on as he enters, only removing it to kneel before you.
“Simon Riley m’lady”
“Not Ser?”
“I beg your pardon”
“Everyone else here is a knight, why are you not?”
“I’m the last remaining member of my house m’lady, we’re a forgotten house”
“I expect my guard to be knighted”
“I may not hold a title Princess, but I assure you I would lay my life down for you” He turns his head to look at you as he speaks, and you release a strained breath,
“You may all leave” You address the room, Simon stands, “You stay” You look to him and he nods, the room is consumed in silence as the other men exit, leaving you alone with him, “Why were you in the gardens last night?”
“I needed to clear my head”
“It’s forbidden to be on castle grounds after dark”
“And yet you were there” He looks up to you, you swallow a thick gulp.
“You’ll be assigned to me, keep me safe”
“Thank you, Princess” He bows his head,
“And don’t wear your helmet inside, it’s unnerving”
He fights the smile that creeps up on his lips as you turn away from him, exiting through the back of the room, you make your way to the Prince's quarters, his guards stand outside the door.
“Princess” They greet you
“Hello, I need to speak to the Prince”
They look to each other and back to you, “He’s busy I’m afraid”
“It’s a matter of staff” You try to push past them but they stop you, you furrow your brow at them, one takes a moment, knocking on the door.
“My Prince, the Princess wishes to speak with you” He shouts through the door, you hear shuffling through the door, the Prince mumbling something before he steps to the door, opening it, he’s half-dressed, his hair a mess, you watch him peer backwards, mouthing something and it all clicks in your head, you feel your chest tighten.
“What did you need my love” The name feels like a stab to your chest,
“I’ve chosen my guard, Simon”
“Simon?”
“The black knight from the feast” You watch the gears spin in his mind
“Yes very well” He turns away,
“He needs to be knighted”
He sighs, “He holds no title?”
“Not yet no”
“Fine, inform him that he should be in the throne room by nightfall, I shall do it then”
Before you can respond he closes the door, the shuffling and giggles behind the door resuming, you spare a polite smile to the guards, turning away and making your way to your quarters.
You sit at the small table in your room, your eyes watching through the window as people wander the grounds, you call for Clarice who meets your side in an instant,
“Please inform my guard he is to be in the throne room after dinner”
“Very well Princess” She smiles at you before leaving, you sit quietly in your room, daydreaming about being outside in the fields, exploring the ponds around the castle grounds, being anywhere but here. The time passes quickly, a servant knocks on your door to inform you that dinner was prepared, you make your way down to the dining hall, the air of the room feeling colder as you sit down, dinners were the same, just you, the Prince and the Queen, the King being in poor health was kept in his room, only brought out for special occasions. You sit and eat, picking at the meal in front of you as the two of them discuss wedding preparations like you aren’t there, they don’t ask for your input, deciding on things alone, after a few minutes you stand to excuse yourself,
“You’re done eating?”
You stop in your tracks, “Not particularly hungry this evening”
“Well, I should see you in a few moments in the throne room then,” He says, turning back to his conversation, disregarding you.
You make your way to the large room, the walls high, large windows separating the spaces in them, you stare at the ceiling, it’s ridiculously tall, with large chandeliers hanging from the crossing beams, there are pictures hanging on the wall, you stride past them not bothering to spare them a glance as you hear the doors open, The Prince walks in beside his own guard, Simon trailing behind them, your gaze softens as you look at him, he kneels in front of the Prince, removing his helmet, you’re close enough now that you can properly make out his features, the sharp line of his jaw, the scar that crosses through his eyebrow, and his eyes, dark and rich, his hair falling slightly across his forehead as he bows his head. The Prince declares a few words, taking a sword from his guard and tapping it onto Simon's shoulders, the knight stands to his height, he towers over the Prince, having to look down to meet his eyes, he swears a few words, giving his oath to the Prince before everything is settled. The Prince nods, stepping away and leaving the room, Simon turns to you,
“Ser Simon” You nod
“Princess”
You stand there looking at him, words unable to make their way from your lips, you simply turn and leave, his eyes following you as you exit making your way up to your room, he trails behind you, his helmet under his arm as you reach your door, he stands with his back to the wall, his eyes focusing around the halls as you enter your room. You step in and close the door, your back falling against the hard wood as you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding, bracing yourself against the door, you take a few seconds to gather your thoughts before moving further into the room, stripping yourself of your dress to put on more comfortable clothes, feeling like you could properly inhale without the burden of a corset.
You spend an hour alone in your room, pacing around trying to occupy your mind, the pale walls doing little to aid your efforts, you think to yourself for a minute, your legs carry you across the rooms towards your door where you stand for a moment, collecting yourself before opening it,
“Princess, is there a problem?” He asks
You shake your head, you’re entranced by his gaze, “Where is your family Ser?”
“My family?”
“You come here holding no title, no accomplishments, who are you?”
“I’m no one”
“Nobody is no one”
He smiles slightly, his eyes crinkling, “I come from England Princess, my family owned a farm before the war, and now I am here”
“And your family, what of them”
“Dead m’lady”
Your face drops, your heart thumps with empathy, “I apologize for my words, I had no idea”
“How could you have”
“Yes well, how did you come to be in the country?”
“I’m not sure, I left home one day and just kept going until I arrived in the countryside”
“And you chose to stay here?”
“It’s beautiful here”
“It seems that way”
“Seems?”
You stumble over your own words, careful to not give yourself away, “I simply mean it’s not my home”
“You’re not from here”
“No, I come from Florin”
“I have never been”
“Well I hope you get to see it one day, it’s beautiful, tall cliffs with waterfalls, every part of it breathtaking”
He watches you speak with deep interest, hanging on to every word that falls from your lips, “You miss it?”
“More and more every day” You admit
“And you can’t go home”
“Not if I am to be Queen” Your smile fades
He nods, you turn your gaze to him, oblivious to the fact that he’s been staring at you the entire time, his eyes memorizing every feature of your face, every smile line and ridge, you turn from him quickly, nervous under his stare.
“It’s late Princess, you should be in bed”
You turn back to him, a polite smile on your face as you walk back into your room, your hand lingers on the doorknob for a moment, wishing you could keep talking to him. You lay in your bed wide awake, the words exchanged with Simon the first conversation you’d had that didn’t concern the details of your marriage, he was the first person to ask about your feelings, your home, you figured he must’ve just been being polite, too nervous about getting sent away to say anything different to you.
Simon stands guard over your room while you sleep, turning away any guard who tried to take his position, intent on ensuring your safety within the confines of your room.
#cod mw2#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost cod#cod mw x reader#simon riley fluff#ghost x reader#mw2022#simon ghost riley x you#ghost mw2#ghost smut#ghost fluff#cod mwii#simon ghost riley smut#simon ghost x reader#call of duty mwii#simon riley smut#cod x reader#simon ghost riley angst#simon riley x you#ghost angst#call of duty
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dad!Harvey playing in the snow with his baby girl 🥺🥺🥺🥺 Im getting so soft for dad!harvey im sorry in advance bc im gonna tell you all of my ideas😋 - @lafantasiaworld
Thank you @lafantasiaworld for the request and please do keep 'em coming! I hope you enjoy this one!
Yes yes yes, I got carried away (again) writing this. But who could resist dad!Harvey?!?!?!
GOLDEN GLOW
"Sunny, still not feeling well?" Harvey caressed the cheek of his sleeping wife. Harvey decided to bring his family over to Aspen for a vacation after the new year. His wife opened her eyes, and Harvey sat down beside her on the bed. "I don't feel too good, but I feel a little better," his wife answered, tiresome lingered in her voice. "I'm sorry, I got sick on our vacation," she continued as Harvey shook his head. "Nothing is more important than for you to get better." Harvey leaned down and kissed the tip of his wife's nose. She giggled, and relief washed over him. At least she could giggle now. A familiar pitter-patter approached the room, about to disturb the silence Harvey and his wife were enjoying. "Daddy!!!" the high-pitched voice announced her arrival before anyone could see the source of the voice. Both Harvey and his wife laughed. Guilt heaved in her heart. They were supposed to go outside and play in the snow. "Daddy, you told me not to bother mommy; why are you bothering her?" the little girl said as she approached the large bed both her parents shared. She wiggled herself around and tried to get onto the bed. The little girl stood on the bed, holding Harvey's face in her tiny arms. "Daddy, answer," she demanded, all serious. His wife laughed at the antics her firstborn always threw. "Daddy was just checking up on me, my sweet girl." The little girl looked at his mom, then looked back at his father. "Do you really?" she questioned her father still. "Yes, my little dove." Harvey grinned as he answered. His daughter was very persistent, much like her father. "Come on!" Harvey hoisted his little girl as he stood up. "Let's let mommy rest so we can go out and play in the snow." His little girl squealed and wriggled out of Harvey's arms. "We really will?" Harvey's heart warmed at the sight of his daughter's eyes, gleaming with joy. "Go on and bundle up. Do you need help?" Harvey offered, as his daughter had already taken off running from the bedroom and heard a distant no.
"Daddy! Why are you taking so long?" Harvey laughed heartily as he heard the impatience of his daughter. Clarice Sophia Specter. A daughter who looked like an exact copy of her father. She acted exactly like her father, but with the eyes of her mother. She made a spectacle even before she was born. Arrived a week early when her mother was in the courtroom, defending a falsely accused man. The moment Harvey looked into the eyes of his newborn daughter, he swore that she would be the death of him. Harvey walked over to his daughter, who was tapping her tiny boots impatiently over the hardwood floor. "You are taking like forever and more, daddy," she pouted, reaching her hand up for Harvey to hold. Harvey took her tiny hand in his. "The shoelaces on my boots were tangled up, Soph." Harvey offered her an explanation as he looked down at his daughter. Sophia then proceeded to look at her father's boots and examine the boots for any further errors regarding the shoelaces. "Be careful, daddy. Don't get hurt," her little eyes wandered over Harvey's. Harvey kneeled over her daughter. "I won't. Don't worry about me, little dove. Thank you for checking up on me." Harvey kissed her daughter on her plump cheek, and she giggled. "You're welcome, but come on, daddy! Let's go play; come on, come on!"
"Sophia! Slow down!" Harvey called as she ran off and bolted out as soon as he opened the cabin's door. Harvey tried to catch up with his daughter. Harvey finally saw his daughter in the clearing of the forest near the cabin they rented. The snowflakes gently danced from the sky, creating a magical scene. Sophia twirled around, arms outstretched, trying to catch the delicate flakes on her tongue. Harvey's heart warmed at the sight of his daughter, so young and innocent. Upon realizing that her father was watching her, she called him, "Daddy, look!" Sophia twirled again, and she ran to Harvey, tongue out. She stood in front of Harvey, pointing at her tongue. Harvey laughed. "The snowflakes have already melted, sweetheart." Sophia pouted, "But didn't you see?" She asked, all excited. "Yes, Soph. I saw all the snowflakes you caught." She giggled upon hearing her father's answer.
Sophia, adorned in her colorful snowsuit, eagerly tugged on her father's hand, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Daddy daddy, let's make snow angels, and we take pictures and we show mommy!" Harvey couldn't resist his daughter's infectious enthusiasm. He chuckled warmly and agreed. "There, Soph, you go first while I take a video of you to send to mommy." Harvey pointed to a rather flat layer of snow. Sophia pouted as she looked up at Harvey. "Daddy, we do it together." Harvey was touched by her daughter's answer. "Come on then, I'll race you there!" Harvey ran off, earning a protest from the little Miss Specter. Harvey ran slower, letting her daughter win. "Me win, me win!" Sophia danced as Harvey pretended to be out of breath. "Wow, I should tell mommy that Sophia is now a big girl!" Harvey exclaimed as he tackled his daughter to the snow, making sure it wasn't a hard fall. Sophia giggled joyously as Harvey joined her in a fit of laughter. The two of them laid down on the snow as their laughter died down. "Daddy, why is mommy sick?" Harvey looked at his daughter as the pair of identical eyes of his wife stared back at him. "Remember we told you that you were going to be a big sister?" Sophia nodded. "Mommy got sick because carrying a baby is a hard job, Soph." Harvey could see his daughter's eyebrows knit together. "Mommy got sick because of the baby?" Harvey shook his head. "No, mommy was just tired because she has been a superhero for us. Carrying your baby brother, taking care of me and you, and she also has to work." Sophia nodded, satisfied by her father's answer. "I love you, my little dove," Harvey said as he kissed the top of his daughter's head. "No, daddy, I love you more than you love me." Harvey was about to argue when his daughter cut him off. "Now, watch, daddy. This is how you make snow angels." Sophia moved her hands and legs, showing her father how to make snow angels, as if her father were clueless on how to do so. Harvey smiled as he watched her daughter, heart full of love.
As they strolled through the snow-covered streets, Harvey couldn't help but marvel at his daughter's unbridled happiness. Sophia, however, had a mischievous glint in her eye. She scooped up a handful of snow and playfully tossed it at her father, who pretended to be surprised.
"Daddy, let's build a snowman!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining with creativity.
The duo set to work, packing and shaping the snow into a round base. With each pat and roll, Sophia and her father bonded over shared laughter and the simple joy of creating something together. Soon, their snowman stood proudly, adorned with a carrot nose, button eyes, and a colorful scarf Harvey had prepared.
As the day unfolded, Sophia and Harvey engaged in a spirited snowball fight. Laughter echoed through the air as they dodged and giggled, leaving behind a trail of footprints in the freshly fallen snow. Harvey couldn't help but feel a deep sense of contentment, cherishing the special moments spent with his daughter.
The sun began to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the snowy landscape. Sophia and her father, rosy-cheeked and filled with happiness, headed back to the cabin. They kicked off their snowy boots, shedding layers of winter gear.
After Harvey cooked both his wife and daughter dinner and sent his wife back to bed, he walked out of the bedroom with Sophia in tow. "Will mommy be okay?" Worry was etched in his daughter's voice. "Don't worry, mommy is getting better," Harvey reassured Sophia, and she nodded. Hand in hand, they headed back downstairs. Harvey's heart heaved. He never had this much time with his daughter, and now the day is about to end. The next time he knew, Sophia would be 17, going against every single thing Harvey said.
Wrapped in blankets, Sophia nestled against her father, their hearts warmed not only by the crackling fire but also by the precious memories created in the magical snowfluff of that winter day. "I love you so much, Soph," Harvey whispered against Sophia's soft hair. "I know, daddy. I love you much more too," Sophia replied, also whispering.
And so, in the quiet embrace of each other, the father-daughter duo drifted into a dreamland, where snowflakes continued to dance and their laughter echoed in the winter night, creating a timeless tale of love and joy.
MASTERLIST
#harvey specter#suits harvey specter#suits tv#harvey specter fan fiction#harvey specter imagines#harvey specter fanfic#harvey specter imagine#harvey specter x reader
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Three Part Harmony 19/?
Rhonda had to call Clarice and tell her that she was feeling much better and that she would be covering her own shift the next day. The plan, such as it was, was to ask around, to see what information could be gleaned from the local rumor mill.
Scully was determined to get Mulder back, and Rhonda felt responsible for his capture, for being unable to bring the supplies back to the cabin like she’d promised she would. And so she would do whatever she could to help.
She was brewing a fresh pot of decaf when the bell above the door rang. She looked up and tried not to belay her surprise. Walking into the diner was the large bald FBI director who had handed her his card however many days ago it was now. He caught her eye as he walked in, nodded, and sat down at a table far away from other patrons, in Shandrika’s section.
Rhonda grabbed her coworker. “Mind if I take 42?” she asked, nodding toward the man. “You can have my next two-top.”
Shandrika barely looked up. “Take him,” she grunted.
Rhonda walked over with a menu and a glass of water. “Good afternoon,” she said, her hands shaking a little as she set down both items. The man nodded at her and slid the menu to the edge of the table as if he already knew what he wanted.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked quietly.
Rhonda’s heart started beating in quick time. The card had given her a warning, but the agent who had been following her worked for this man, and she feared she might once again be under suspicion. Still, she tried to keep her cool.
“Assistant Director, was it?” she asked.
The Assistant Director nodded. “Skinner,” he said.
Not knowing what else to do, she smiled and nodded toward the table. “Would you care for anything to drink other than water, Assistant Director Skinner?” Her southern accent turned thick, which it tended to do when she was nervous.
“Coffee,” he said.
“Black?”
He nodded and when she turned away to fetch him a cup, she watched as his eyes slowly scanned the dining room, clocking every patron, every employee.
When she brought the steaming mug and set it in front of him, he seemed satisfied that whatever he was apprehensive about was no longer a concern, as his posture relaxed, and he gave her a close-lipped smile when she slid the hot drink in front of him.
“You ready to order?” she asked, swallowing thickly.
He nodded slowly. “I’ve been told,” he said, “that I should order the pie.”
There was something about the way he said it that piqued Rhonda’s interest and she looked at him curiously. “Oh yeah?”
He nodded. “Now, I got the same sense when I was in here last—it’s why I gave you my card. But, a friend ate here once with his wife and child. Said the Georgia Peach pie was… a choice you could trust.”
Rhonda felt a lightness, a rightness. Of course Skinner would have spoken with Mulder after he was arrested. Mulder had sent him here.
“You can trust that pie with your life,” Rhonda said, meaning it. “And so can he.”
XxXxXxXxXxX
Scully sat on the sofa, watching her son zooming throughout the room. He was pulling himself up often now, and scooting along the coffee table–it was only a matter of time before he started walking. She thought of William taking his first steps and Mulder not being around to see it and felt her insides plummet in despair.
Mulder. He had, not long after they began working together, become an integral part of her world, and the X-Files that were his passion became the galaxy she orbited within. He was, she had realized when he was gone, as inevitable and necessary a part of her as the atoms that made her up. And like the pull of gravity, everything arced toward him.
She needed to get him back. Not just for herself, but for their son. And for Mulder’s sake most of all. But how? Oh, how?
William chose that moment to babble something happily, and she turned her attention more fully toward him, Mulder’s voice in her head coming through like a creeping vine: what else is he capable of?
There was a feeling of dread inside her, but also of wonder. She suspected, when it came to William’s powers, that they had barely scratched the surface. She thought of the levitating bowl of cereal, she thought of the agent opening the door to the closet they were in and looking right past them. She thought of the men hovering above the floor of William’s nursery, of the connection she felt with both William and Mulder the last time they had all been together.
The thought of perhaps using her son’s powers to help rescue his father turned her stomach. She was repulsed by the idea, by the thought of putting her son in more danger than he was already in, of taking advantage of him, of his gift, of his innocence. It was her job to protect him.
But what were her other options? And what if it was as simple as William just…turning his father invisible? Scully pictured an empty pair of handcuffs just waltzing themselves out of the Sheriff’s office door and into their car.
She chuffed a laugh at the impossible thought. That, for many reasons, would never work. She got the sense that William could only tap into some of his more staggering gifts when he was frightened or when emotions were running high. But they had to try something. And in order to make a more informed decision–whether or not she chose to involve the boy–she needed to know what exactly he was capable of.
“William?” she said.
The boy looked up at her and gave her a wet grin. “Hi,” he said.
Scully couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on her own face.
“Hi William,” she said.
“Hi,” he said again.
She let herself enjoy the moment and then tipped her head down and looked him in the eye, intending to connect with him. She felt a slight tug on her forebrain, and then the boy looked away. She wasn’t entirely certain he understood all that was happening, but she was starting to realize that when they were tuned into each other–something that was getting easier and easier the more she tried it–he seemed to easily pick up on her emotions and motivations and even, to a certain extent, to her impulses. The more strongly she felt about something, the more tuned in he seemed to be–the invisible trick with the Bryson guy a good example–and the more he seemed to interpret her intent. She wondered if the swirling emotions she had surrounding Mulder and his capture could get the boy even more locked in, if you could assign the capricious whims of a one year old child that kind of focus.
Scully thought of Mulder, letting the pang of regret and pain bounce around inside of her, growing as it echoed off the walls of her heart. William looked at her again, and she felt the connection to him almost instantly, like she had turned a key and the tumblers of his mind locked into place with hers.
A melancholy look came over him, which she instantly lamented, but pressed on.
Letting her eyes flutter closed, she probed deeper inside of him than she ever had before, trying to find a door that led to where his gifts dwelled. A moment later, she felt something on her knee, and opened her eyes to find William pulling himself up with her pant leg, his eyes looking sadly into hers.
“Dada?” he asked quietly, and without another thought, she fiercely swiped away a tear and swung him up into her arms, kissing his soft, pudgy cheek. Guilt at pulling him into her sadness knocking her into movement.
“We’re going to find him,” she promised, and walked over to the piano bench in the corner of the room, lowering herself onto it, and the boy onto her lap.
A hint of a smile creeped onto his face, and he turned his attention to the instrument before them. They were still connected, and she could feel the pull of excitement wash sweetly over him. It knocked her own sorrow back.
“You like the piano?” she asked him, sniffing once.
He clapped his hands together and she felt both of their moods lift.
Lifting the fall board to reveal the ivory and black keys, Scully looked down.
“Should we play something?”
William drooled as he gave her a full gummy smile. She reached forward and pressed a key. She had never taken lessons (Mulder, from what she could remember, had somewhat resentfully taken lessons as a kid; fifty minutes in the basement of the local Methodist church, the instruction sandwiched between Comportment and Cotillion). She had no idea what she was doing, but let her finger press down gently at first and then again more firmly, the single note bouncing jauntily off the pine walls of the cabin.
William’s reaction was instantaneous, and she felt it in her head the same time he experienced it; his power, like a blooming surge of color, looping in expanding bubbles in the periphery of their shared mindspace. It was like synesthesia, Scully thought, eternally needing to put a name to the unknown, to the extraordinary.
A sense of awe creeping in, she pressed another key, the music coiling his power in a slightly different way between them. It was a feeling of buoyancy, a surge of dynamism. She felt certain her fingers would spark if she rubbed them together. She had closed her eyes when first experiencing it, but she opened them now, and looked around the room, this time pressing two keys at once.
The feeling William was experiencing surged through her as well, and then, without thinking, her eyes drifting past the wicker basket full of baby toys, she sent a burst of energy toward them, emanating from somewhere deep within her chest. The toys in the basket floated up, rising in the air as though freed from gravity’s bonds. Spin, she thought at them, and the toys began to twirl through the air. Higher, she thought, getting the hang of it, and up they floated toward the ceiling of the A-frame, bound by nothing but her mind and her son’s incredible power.
Scully gasped, and her blood surged inside of her, rising up instead of out, as if it had forgotten which way it was supposed to flow—as if it was trying to go two directions at once. This is it, she thought, she had sourced the flow of William’s gifts. Now how far could she take them?
She looked down at her son, who looked back with what she gleaned as mild surprise, and sent the dining room table floating as well, then the sofa. Each thing she added came with a renewed sense of control, and if she felt the power begin to wane, all she had to do was press a few keys on the piano and, like a tide easing its way onto shore, it would softly surge.
The bevy of objects in the air–in the case of the furniture, only a few feet off the ground, but the baby toys and books hovering near the top of the lofted ceiling–she thought of Mulder, and how she wished he were here to see it. And that’s when she felt it, a soft bloom of sensation, as though a watercolor she was painting was bleeding off the edge of the canvas and into the landscape beyond it. She recognized it with a patent familiarity, but then her attention was pulled by an odd sound in the room and a chilly shift in the air.
When she turned to look, Rhonda stood in the open doorway, her mouth agape, her eyes round as saucers.
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Witchcraft
Frankie and his wife have to come to terms with the worst.
word count: 1559
Warnings: ANGST, OH MY GOD ANGST. made myself cry writing this. cancer, death, loss, grief. Ignore mistakes bc I'm too lazy to check more thoroughly.
Frankie never liked hospitals. The smell made him nauseous. Everything was too pristine, except for the things that mattered. He hated the white coats and the scrubs and the sterile gloves and face masks. The IVs and the beeping of the machines.
It didn’t change even a little bit when he packed two big bags of clothes and toiletries and locked the front door, leaving the key with his neighbor Clarice to water the plants.
It didn’t change when he’d spent night after night after night right next to the love of his life in a tiny hospital bed. Nothing changed, he didn’t get used to it. He couldn’t.
But this wasn’t about him. It was about her.
Everything he hated to be around turned into mild nuisances, background noise, as he watched her fade away. Their daughter was staying with his mother; she was happy to take the little bundle of joy off their hands while their lives were violently ripped away from under their feet.
They saw the baby every visit - until it became too difficult for her to handle. Too emotionally and physically draining. Her bed sores were bad. The surgery scars made her feel like half the woman she used to be, even though to him she wasn’t.
He told her every day that he thought she was the most beautiful person in the world. Every day, he told her that her bald head looked adorable. That her flat chest was kinda cool.
She cried a lot. He tried not to. It didn’t always work out, and sometimes their tears rolled down their cheeks to where their mouths were connected and made kisses unbearably salty and wet.
The time in the beginning, that hopeful period of a few months, the surgery - they were able to deal with that. They even had a few quiet weeks back home spending time with their newborn daughter.
But then there was a follow-up blood test and x-ray that felt like a punch in the gut. Like an SUV was rolling over their bodies, breaking every rib and making it impossible to breathe.
The surgery was witchcraft, that’s what he said right after. When she could walk through the house, when she could still put her hair into that messy bun he liked. When she could use her rolling pin and make pie. When they could have sex and go to the movies on Saturday nights.
But all of that was gone with the follow-up tests. Their dreams crushed and their hearts shattered.
After the diagnosis, she made him promise to stop smoking. Promise to never relapse and do coke again. She made him eat greens every day. But when they practically moved into her tiny hospital room, it was him who made her eat healthy.
For a while, she could hold a fork or a spoon and even cut her food into pieces, but eventually even that went away. He had to feed her. And he didn’t mind.
He minded that she was dying. She was definitely, one hundred percent guaranteed to pass away. It had spread. They tried chemo, they tried radiation, to no avail. It was hopeless, and it was the worst. When it gets really hot in the summer and everyone is sweating and fanning their faces with stacks of paperwork in the offices of the city and they complain that the heat is “the worst”? That’s not the worst.
When someone’s car breaks down ten miles away from civilization and they have to find a phone booth to have it towed, that’s not the worst either.
This disease is the worst. He knew that before, but he never understood it like this. She didn’t either. They could have done without ever learning what it meant.
She was scared every day. He couldn’t begin to imagine how scared she was. But she tried to stay positive, for him, and he tried to stay positive, for her. They both wanted to do nothing but cry.
He missed her when he took all the laundry and drove down to the laundromat because it was closer to the hospital than their house. He missed her when he went to visit his mother and child, keeping them up to date. It was like he had to leave his heart at the reception when he left the hospital grounds, and there was no circulation in his bloodstream the entire time they were apart.
When he returned to her, every time, it hit him like a ton of bricks how fragile she was. He got used to crying eventually. They learned to ignore it, adapted to it as a normal part of their day. It was fucked up.
Her friends coming to visit her at home before all of this always made him feel awkward, he couldn’t really figure out how to connect with them that well, so he let her have her girls nights in peace, found something else to do or spent time with his own friends. He got along with hers, but they weren’t his friends. Until they came in pairs to visit her, and eventually alone.
There was a new, deep kind of connection he built with every single one of them. He watched them feed her when he was too exhausted from weeping all night. They ignored when he hadn't showered for a couple of days. When he walked them to their cars, they smiled at him, they comforted him, and inside they made them both laugh. They brought gifts and treats and one of them sneaked her Chihuahua into the hospital so she could pet the soft fur and have the dog lick her face. They brought board games sometimes too, or cards.
She noticed the individual friendships blossom into strong and deep platonic connections that could barely even be described as friendships - the word wasn’t meaningful enough.
Seeing him with her friends, she told him to move on after her death. To let somebody else in. Somebody new, someone he hadn’t met yet. To go out there and make more connections, to honor the one they had, to not let her be his last. But he felt like that was impossible and he was incapable of it.
It all went by too quickly, despite being hell on earth. He just wanted more time with her. He wanted to keep looking into her eyes, and he wanted to keep kissing her forever. But at some point, they had to sedate her. He had to put his hand around hers to keep the pen steady as she signed a do-not-resuscitate order, and it made him excuse himself to the parking lot to sob alone in his truck for twenty minutes. She could see it on his face, in his puffy red eyes, but she was too weak to worry about it anymore.
When she passed, when they turned off the machines he’d always hated, he felt like he died right there with her. The days leading up to her funeral were the hardest. All the paperwork and formalities offended him, despite everyone doing their best to be compassionate and understanding.
He kept more photos of her in his wallet than before, and he lived with his mother for a while. The baby meant everything to him. It was his lifeline to take care of her, just like it had been his lifeline to take care of her mother. Right after her funeral, the urge to relapse was the strongest it had ever been. He never deleted his dealer’s contact off the list on his phone. One night it was so bad, he tapped the call button and let it ring twice before hanging up.
The next day, he signed up for a self help group. He decided to do it for their child. He lit a cigarette on the way there, but didn’t take a single drag. It died in his truck’s ashtray unsmoked. He had no fucking idea how he was able to stay strong like this. Inside his head, his beating heart, he was ravaged and devastated. He cried every night, for hours, until the baby needed attention.
Changing diapers and bottle feeding, holding her, falling asleep in an armchair with her until his mother gently woke him up and made him go to bed… those things were his saving grace in the end. It was like she’d come into his life specifically to help him cope with the immense loss. To prevent him from overdosing, accidental or purposeful.
The self help group was a diverse cast of faces. Dealing with loss. Some had lost their spouses like him, some had lost children, friends, parents. He sat in the back and listened to others speak during the first session he attended. He skipped the second session, because he was busy dealing with his daughter having a cold. When he attended the third one, he was warmly welcomed back and he was surprised they remembered him.
A few weeks into the program, there was a fresh face. Her hair was the same shade. Her skin was different. She had a pretty smile and her voice gave him goosebumps. Remembering his wife’s heart-to-heart about letting someone else in, he worked up the courage to talk to her for weeks. When he finally did, he had no regrets.
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@rocket-eighty-eight mentioned you on a post “The real saw trap is reading an incredibly wrong...”:
@titleleaf WHERE did you see this red dragon take?!?!!
Why, here on Tumblr Dot Com, of course! I thought I had it screencapped but I managed to restrain myself from engaging with the original post -- the OP was all of 20 and God knows I made absolutely boneheaded Tumblr posts when I was 20, I make some pretty stupid ones now. Regardless, it had pretty hardcore "hasn't actually read Red Dragon" energy. As you might also expect it was a post gassing up the NBC Hannibal s3 finale, framing Will's participation in the killing of Dolarhyde as him embracing queerness and aligning himself with his true love, Hannibal, rather than his fake comphet love, Molly.
Paraphrased, their interpretation was: "the end of Red Dragon, the book, has Will triumphing over Dolarhyde and successfully saving his wife and child, reaffirming the integrity of heterosexual marriage and exorcising the queer threat that Lecter poses to Will's identity of himself as straight, while the show's s3 finale has the better and more affirming depiction: Will leaving behind his wife and child and going to be with Hannibal and embrace his nature as a killer, showing that he's accepted his true self and what he holds in common with Lecter." Which... all of that aside, that's not remotely what happens in the book Red Dragon!
The ending of the novel is so notoriously downbeat and ambivalent that I have read multiple pieces of academic writing commenting on it, and it's something both film adaptations have felt the need to change. It's a fucking downer. You can't even feel good about Molly killing Dolarhyde because you've seen enough of Dolarhyde as a sympathetic wounded beast to wish that outcome, however inevitable genre conventions make it, could be different. Will's relationship to his stepson is already fatally wounded before Dolarhyde shows up, and Will's marriage is fucking toast -- even as Will's lying in his hospital bed he knows this, that Molly will leave him because of what's happened, and by the time SOTL takes place it certainly seems to have come true. Will's physical and mental well-being have been burned through, and by the next time we hear about him he's a deeply traumatized alcoholic whose face looks like damn Picasso drew it, and, we can assume, very single. Heterosexual love is not enough in this book to save anybody! Not Dolarhyde and Reba, not Will and Molly, not the Leedses, not the Jacobis, not Dolarhyde's mother and her new husband, not even Freddy Lounds and Wendy. Will comes to a fuller understanding of the "vicious urges" within him that humanity more broadly struggles with, not just outliers like Dolarhyde and Lecter, but it's not a comfortable exorcism of the destabilizing threat of violence, the emotional tone remains uneasy and weird. It's a bummer. Nobody is living happily ever after and it's Lecter who gets the last word. (And he's such a bitch about it, too, I'm obsessed.)
My own feelings on how the show does the RD plotline with Dolarhyde in s3 aside (short version: badly) I think people have a tendency to back-project the show's framing of Will and Hannibal's relationship onto the first novel when it doesn't apply. Their relationship in the book is interesting and imo very fun but it's very different because the rest of the canon from which the show will draw to pad it out just does not exist yet -- the show sort of Frankensteins together parts of Clarice's plotlines to make up the difference and while I enjoy the results in isolation Will and Hannibal's relationship dynamic in the show isn't remotely a straightforward translation from book to screen or some kind of more correct, uncensored version of what the book was too timid to show. (Clarice's whole perverse union with Lecter in Hannibal the book follows its own different trajectory, and I can see how people read it as liberating and/or affirming, but uhhhh I'll get back to them on that later.) I don't think the show does the fusion of those two relationships particularly elegantly (or the distribution of other aspects of the Hannibal-Clarice relationship onto other characters' relationships to Hannibal, though it did bring me one of my favorite parts of s3 with Bedelia) but I think it's really muddied people's ability to talk about the actual books (and films) on the merits of what they actually contain versus what they assume they must contain or would like them to contain. It's a hot mess express.
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*kicks in the door in an attempt to make a dramatic entrance but just ends up stubbing my toe really bad*
CROWWWW!
I demand you tell me all about your ocs so that ours can have a tea party together *shakes fist menacingly*
BIM ARE YOU OKAY??
Heccin hell. That looked bad! Here take some shiny pills from my crow-collection!
—
Ok, yes now back the question, ahem! So, I don’t have a whole lot of OCs outside of my super secret original works, because I’m pretty sure I poured all my energy into developing weird, nameless NPCS in Soulsborne games in particular xD
I dunno, it’s addicting! But anyway, I do have some in “Christened in Blood” that will become/already are relevant, and even though they are mostly lore tie-ins, I did confirm with Katy and Fantomette that they “counted” as OCs 😅
I’ll be sharing about them in that case, and fair warning, some of these peeps are genuinely awful, so Emori and Hollise and the girls should absolutely feel free to kick their asses 🖤 (Fantomette, your OCs as well, hehe).
Ok um…where to start? Maybe with the Cainhurst OCs??
(Gonna cut for space because it gets long! Sincerest apologies ;-;).
—
Lord Dominic, father of Lady Maria
Alright, Cainhurst OCs it is! Here’s Dominic!
You know him already of course, since he insisted on being terrible right from the start of my fic, but believe it or not, he leaves more of an impact on the story than some of the others, so I can’t leave him out!
Basically he was the captain of the royal guard during the reign of Annalise’s mother, and before that he had been an executioner for the royal family. He and the queen were a pair of scheming devils that wanted to remake Cainhurst in a new image, which was essentially the Vileblood revolution. They rebelled against the old ways of the kingdom which basically glorified the Pthumerian rituals and traditions that were thought to bring about godhood.
Dominic and the Queen were like; Let’s cut out the middle man and just straight up use the blood to become more Pthumerian-like right away. That’s what they did, and when the queen took her throne, she kept Dominic by her side for defense.
In all truth, yes. He was an absolute bastard. He married a lesser noble from the Cainhurst-Hemwick bloodline, and fathered Maria and Bloody Crow/Luther. He was cruel and abusive towards his wife and children, usually by way of controlling everything they did. He wanted his wife to avoid “weakening” his children, and wanted Maria, his eldest, to be his trophy child successor. They were like tools to him in a grander political game, and needless to say, they all hated and feared him.
Hell, most people in the kingdom hated and feared him because he still acted as the queen’s executioner that would snuff out entire families if they rebelled or even spoke of treason. He was a terrifying, ruthless warrior and he truly believed everything he was doing was right. The only one that adored him was the queen, and he happily served her out of twisted admiration and loyalty. They were just heartless and Machiavellian enough for each other.
But to the majority, Dominic was fiery, proud, cold, zealous, bad-tempered, and stubborn. He was eloquent and manipulative as well, often intimidating to others due to his unpredictable nature.
Now, I won’t spoil much, but while Maria spent much of her life trying to erase Dominic’s memory and influence, Crow/Luther actually discovered another side to the man that changed how he saw him. Yes, he was still always an asshole, but weirdly enough, he had a very specific purpose for it. I actually enjoyed adding another layer to this character past just the abusive father figure.
PLEASE DO NOT INVITE HIM TO A TEA PARTY HE WILL KILL MULTIPLE PEOPLE LMAO
—
Lady Clarice, mother of Lady Maria
Oh wow! It’s Maria’s mom! Hope nothing bad happens to h—*COUGH*
Lady Clarice was a noble scion of a smaller family of Cainhurst aristocrats, and was pressured to marry Dominic, a high-born directly related to the queen, by her family in order to elevate their house. While she had grown up in Hemwick during its better days, she would eventually up and leave to live in the snowy, mountain-top castle across the great lake. This new life made her miserable, and her marriage with Dominic was loveless. She never actually understood why he had decided to wed her, especially when it seemed clear that his affections were turned towards the queen.
She did, however, love her children. Particularly Luther. Sadly, while she did cherish Maria, she often looked to her daughter as more of a “savior” instead of a child in need of love and care. Clarice tended to put more pressure on Maria to watch over her brother and defend them both against Dominic, because…well…Maria was strong. Maria was bolder and more confidant than her paranoid mother, and though there was love between them, there was possibly also resentment.
Clarice was, after all, just another lost child that was sold away by her family and forced into a life she did not want. She missed Hemwick, and the farms, the mills, the people. She missed her simple life and the friends she had made there…and after sinking into heavy depression, she made some critical mistakes that led to her downfall. The mark she left on Maria was life-altering, but unfortunately for Luther, his memories of her were only so extensive.
In her life she was known to be a docile, quiet woman with a love of flowers, astronomy, and old folktales/stories. She was also an artist and carried books full of colorful, floral scribbles wherever she went. Despite her cold life, there were many who loved her. Also one random fact, she was known for wearing the scents of lavender and rosemary on her clothes, which were both considered to be crude plants in Cainhurst, as they were usually associated with wandering plague doctors. However, Clarice had been surrounded by the scents in Hemwick and harbored them out of bittersweet nostalgia.
She’d enjoy the chill vibe of a good ol’ tea session I think!
—
Queen Claudia, mother of Annalise
Look, I’m not saying Annalise was some wonderful and pure person or anything, but compared to her mother, she was a saint. Claudia may be one of the most devious characters I have ever come up with for a fic, and when you combine her and Dominic, you have a very bad combo.
Claudia was the younger daughter of Queen Zofia (the name I gave to Annalise’s grandmother), and sister to Lady Evelyn, who I’ll talk about later. There was something very devilish about Claudia from the start, because she was basically one of the first people to get her hands on forbidden blood before the whole thing with the scholar even happened. She straight up consumed that blood smoothie, and then gave birth to her first child, Annalise. Fun fact! Annalise was born immortal, and Claudia discovered this when she saw Anna immediately regenerate from a wound when she was a young child.
After that, Claudia basically usurped her elder sister’s throne by claiming that she had more of a right to it because she was the one with the immortal heir. Evelyn’s children were not “special” by any means. And after spreading her “we’re going to produce an immortal line of rulers and give this divine life to our people” propaganda, Claudia won the favor of the kingdom’s citizens and nearly incited a rebellion when the former queen resisted the claim.
In the end, through extreme manipulation and theatrics, Claudia won and inherited the throne. She took a consort, raised her daughter to be the public golden child, and encouraged a more Bacchanalian culture in Cainhurst. She wanted her people to revel, feast, lust, and drink, and to become drunk on blood. It’s how she controlled them. Yes, this also is what gave Cainhurst a bad reputation and image for the rest of the world. They became known as drunken, careless nobles that craved bloodSport. Claudia relished in this.
She was a callous, dangerous, cutthroat, and manipulative queen. She wore many faces depending on her audience, and was a narcissistic, arrogant, and cruel person overall. She used people like pawns, including her own children, and did whatever it took to keep her line on the throne. That included side-lining her own sister, encouraging abuse towards her sister’s children, and keeping Dominic by her side, who she trusted completely and could unleash on anyone that opposed her. I don’t even want to get into what she did to Annalise because the fic will cover that and it might be a little too much for a simple OC post lmao. (Fantomette can confirm).
There had never really been a queen like her before, since most were benevolent and decent, but Claudia was just genuinely evil-hearted.
So, fair warning, you do NOT want this lady at a tea party lol. She’s probably the only Cainhurst noble besides Dominic that actually earned the “Vileblood” name xD
—
Lady Evelyn, aunt of Queen Annalise, mentor to Lady Maria
If Claudia was the “bad” sister, then Evelyn was the “good” sister. Even though she looks scarier, hehe. Yes, I did come up with this character because of the gun, but it just made sense to me that they would name the weapon after the commander of the beast-hunting knight’s calvary. In my eyes, the previous armies were not as well equipped for beast hunting because the plague hadn’t been very prevalent then. When it got worse, and after Evelyn had been cast aside in favor of her sister’s rule, she founded a new league of knights.
Evelyn was calm, rational, and intelligent. She carefully analyzed Gehrman from afar and the way in which he modified weapons before proceeding to imitate him and garner extra knowledge from Eastern weapon-smiths. She modified and commissioned the Evelyn pistol, the Chikage, the Reiterpallasch, and even the Rakuyo upon Maria’s request. Sometimes she made the weapons herself, sometimes she simply told the weapon-smiths how to design them, but every time she would end up with something brilliant.
Her knights loved her, and she was their strict, formal commander and trainer. She also taught Lady Maria how to fight, and how to adapt to using standard weapons instead of blood-blades. Maria’s dualistic skills began with Evelyn and continued with Gehrman, both of whom she admired.
Evelyn found that her focus on beast-hunting and leading her knights was the best way to avoid Claudia and the strife within their shared home. She did her best to not provoke her sister and remained silent even after the usurpation, but inevitably there was a deep resentment brewing. In secret, Evelyn prepared her son (Leo) to one day reclaim the throne. This quiet treason was the foundation for much of the tension between the descendants of both sisters.
Regardless, Evelyn’s plans were understandable, and while she may have been quite bitter and aloof, she at least loved her children, her knights, and her remaining family, often holding back her own desires for their sakes. It was her graceful daughter that led the knights during the time of Logarius’s attack, and Leo, who was very similar to his mother if only a bit more volatile, loyally fought in his mother’s name for many years of his life.
Evelyn would be very stern and formal at a tea party, so maybe not the most exciting person to invite, but she would be able to tell some great stories, and at least she’d hold back from fighting anyone lol.
—
Lord Theodore, brother of Queen Annalise
(It’s funny using this portrait because Fantomette has a whole different OC based off of it who is so sweet, but now I gotta share my totally different one kjsjs).
I don’t have a whole lot to say about this pompous loser, but basically, he was Annalise younger brother and was usually pretty satisfied to just do whatever his sister asked if he was able to live a luxurious, unbothered life in return.
As a child, he was a spoiled brat and endlessly bullied his cousins (Evelyn’s children) because uhh…he thought it was funny? I guess? Basically he took after his mother, but without the cunning and frightening intelligence. He was a somewhat decent captain of the guard after Dominic, but his battle skills were really not too impressive or anything. He usually just sent out his underlings to do most of the dirty work when he could.
Needless to say, he wasn’t exactly popular among his own soldiers for that, but he was quite popular with the kingdom’s people. He looked like some dreamy, romantic hero, and so they all put him on a pedestal for it. He loved the attention and praise from them, because…well, it was what fueled him to keep doing his job. He was a spoiled, smug individual, and just wanted to eat, drink, be merry, and enjoy long life, which he received from his sister’s blood.
He did have some mild resentment towards Annalise because as adults, she treated him as somewhat of a pawn or a public trophy to win her people’s affections, but her compensation for his work was usually so lavish that he just ignored his issues with Annalise. He didn’t consider them worth losing his luxuries.
He’d be an overly-proud and selfish person to have at a tea party, but hey, he’d be kinda fun to bully because there’s no way this guy can take what he dishes out sjhskkskj. He’s rude as hell to people he doesn’t like, but you could probably get him to cry if you insulted his hair xD
—
Ok, finally I’m away from Cainhurst, thank Kos. I do have more background characters developed, but they aren’t active enough in the story to mention, and again, they’re usually just family/lore tie-ins.
Anyway, let’s look at a couple more characters that actually influence the story in CIB.
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Felix, The Hinterlands Scarecrow and predecessor to Eileen
Imagine Eileen but with a scarecrow cap, a creepy scarecrow mask, a blue-beaded bell charm, and slightly blue-splattered feathers with blue/gold thread subtly woven in. That was Felix, the Blue Crow, the Scarecrow, whatever you wanna call him. He came from the “Hinterlands” aka “totally-not-Tibet” where the first hunter-hunters came from.
In my canon, Eileen was born in “totally-not-Nepal” which is geographically, (and accurately so irl), right next to “totally-not-Tibet.” So, she and Felix crossed paths as youths and knew each other for years. Felix was the nephew to the first hunter of hunters, and had hoped to succeed her as the next to carry the mantle. However, his aunt skipped over him and chose another lad to carry the crow mantle for a few years. Yes, Felix was young at the time and therefore a bit immature. He was jealous of the successor, Brandon, for years, but wouldn’t ya know it, they finally met and Felix realized the bastard was actually pretty cool.
Fast forward a few years, Felix is Brandon’s soon-to-be successor, and the two are like…best friends. They were like Anakin and Obi-Wan in The Clone Wars fr. Absolute bros.
They even went to fight on the frontlines of a distant war together, and spent a lot of time hunting down crazed members of the League who were losing their minds. Obviously Brandon was the mercy-killer, but Felix learned how to become a dangerous warrior along the way.
Then BAM! Brandon goes whack in the head after some rough turns in the road and Felix has to be his mercy-killer in order to finally embrace his crow-mantle. What was once a young boy’s dream of glorious achievement was now a bitter and grim affair. Felix very reluctantly took down Brandon and became pretty withdrawn, cynical, and stoic afterwards. That’s when he found Eileen again and started training her.
Felix was a crow for a long time, and his reputation for having killed one of his own “kin” earned him the moniker of “The scarecrow among his own.” After all, what is a scarecrow if not the terror of even the ominous crows? Felix would kill one of his own if necessary. While he was highly emotive, wild, and strong-willed as a youth, older Felix was closed-off, disciplinarian, traditional, cold, and pessimistic. Only Eileen knew him for who he really was, and the two had an unspoken bond like a brother-sister pair. Felix discouraged any emotional ties, but yes, he did care for Eileen, and vice-versa.
Really, the only strife that arose between them was when Eileen’s apprentice became the Bloody Crow, because uhhh, you can imagine Felix’s PTSD with crow-hunters teetering on the edge of madness and all that. Heh.
Overall, Felix would be fine at a tea party, but he might be too strict or sharp-tongued, thereby killing the mood a bit. How dare anyone have fun and be relaxed in his presence 😒 (He’s actually a good guy tho, plz don’t judge him too hard </3)
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Hugo, Logarius’s second-in-command.
I don’t know what it is with me and making awful characters, but I guess I need them for the plot lmao. Hugo is genuinely despicable, and honestly on the same level as Claudia/Dominic. At first, you might just think he’s a bully, but his undying loyalty to Logarius of all people suggests that he’s worse.
Hugo was originally the son of one of Gehrman’s hunting captains, and grew up in the hunter’s culture around Byrgenwerth. He was ambitious and aggressive as a hunter, usually overly-mutilating beasts, getting into fights with his peers, and causing trouble. Most suspected that he just had a violent home life, but nobody could really confirm what the problem was.
Nevertheless, Hugo hated humanity and found “the hunt” to be a way to unleash all his vicious loathing. He very loudly preached against the idea that beasts were human, and he didn’t believe that Pthumerians, Vilebloods, or any other humanoid type beings were human either. This is essentially what Logarius taught, and even though they all knew it was BS, they had to justify their actions somehow.
Hugo tortured and butchered countless people over the years when he followed Logarius into the Church and became an Executioner (Logarius’s right-hand man). Anyone with even the slightest signs of bestial infection were targets for Hugo, and there were rumors that he had cannibalistic tendencies when dispatching his victims because he “didn’t see their flesh as human flesh.” (Another lie to satisfy his lust for destruction of his fellow man of course). The other Executioners always helped cover up his crimes because they were scared of him too. Everyone knew that he was a perverse and disgusting individual.
So, yeah…do NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT INVITE THIS SADISTIC BASTARD TO YOUR TEA PARTY PLEASE OMG. If you don’t hate him now, you will when I post the next few chapters because uhhh…uhh…uhhh….ANYWAY!
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Johann and Pavel, the Yharnam Clockmaker
Alright, this one is a bit complicated because I know it’s two names here, but it’s only one character, and not in a Dr. Jekyll type of way. Basically this old guy, Johann, was a clockmaker in Yharnam and was one of the people to help design the Astral Clocktower itself.
Johann lived alone in his old age, but had what was likely schizophrenia and constantly hallucinated the presence of his long lost son, Pavel. Pavel had died as a child, but to Johann, he was his small, tag-a-long apprentice in the old clock-shop. During the years when Bloody Crow/Luther was in Yharnam, he befriended the grizzled clockmaker and formed somewhat of an odd friendship with him.
Luther was always coming in to commission him for pocket watches or water clocks….because Luther had a specific interest in collecting and learning how to craft the ornaments. He employed their designs in things like little smoke and powder bombs as well, and Johann was the go-to “parts guy.”
So, Johann spent many hours chatting away with Luther as they worked on these little trinkets, and the latter got used to seeing the aged man call out and speak to his deceased son like it was nothing. Just another sad story of Yharnam madness, eh?
You could invite this fellow to a tea party for sure. He’s nice, and just a bit eccentric is all. Yes, he talks to someone you can’t see, but there’s nothing wrong with that! Bloke deserves some free cake tbh.
—
Ok! I’m pretty sure those are the main OCs for CIB, and even though I developed the hell out of Vileblood Drifter Leo (He’s Evelyn’s son in this story), those two Research Hall doctor-hunters (Gladys and Ursula), and the previous crow-hunters, those are all either non-original characters already or characters that are only mentioned by name in the fic. I do plan to make a big post for my headcanons on the previous crow-hunters sometime, but they’re mostly for background lore purposes. I’m not sure if I’ll ever actually write all their stories.
In the mean time, this is gonna be one hell of a tea party…are you ready Bim?? XD
#once again your girls can kick everyone’s ass if need be <3#some of these freaks need it lol#FOOKIN TEA TIME INNIT YA GITS#LESS GO#this was actually fun fr#i didn’t expect that#i always forget about ocs being ocs#they can be like canon fodder to me sometimes but i guess i have put more thought into them than that#bloodborne ocs#bloodborne#christened in blood#bloodborne fanfiction#asks#mutuals
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Characters who scream
"Someone who loves you wouldn't do this"
Troy Otto
Laurel Hall
Aegon Targaryen
Francesco Pazzi
Clarice Orsini
Rhaenyra Targaryen (younger)
Alicent Hightower (younger)
Lucrezia Borgia
Piero the Unfortunate
#cause reasons#troy otto#laurel hall#ftwd#hotd#aegon the usurper#alicent hightower#rhaenyra targaryen#i medici#francesco pazzi#clarice orsini#more than a wife#piero#catarina sforza
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Clarenzo forehead touches are my favorite thing
#clarenzo#clarice#lorenzo#more than a wife#lorenzo the magnificent#i medici#clarice orsini#the medici family#giuliano de medici#medici the magnificent rp#medici the beauty and the power
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The Dance of the Two Hands: Its Origin and Conclusion
PART I
The Dance of the Two Hands, as mummers and singers alike have dubbed that most heinous conflict maesters prefer to call the Hundred Years War*, can trace its roots back to the reign of King Titus III Gardener, who ruled the Reach more than a thousand years before Aegon Targaryen began his conquest of Westeros.
*As Maester Myrddin noted somewhat dryly in his history, Lords and Ladies of the Dance: Their Lives and Deaths, the war actually lasted ninety-eight years.
Titus III came to sit upon the Oakenseat under less than auspicious circumstances. The Winter Sickness had trimmed the line of House Gardener down to just two branches*. Moreover, recent defeats had seen Nightsong ceded back to the Storm Kings and Cornfield back to the Kings of the Rock. Worst of all by far though, Titus III found his vaults empty and he himself indebted to, amongst others*, the Starry Sept. A man decisive in thought as well as action, Titus III moved swiftly to address each of these issues, beginning with the matter of succession. His Grace took Lady Rhea Fossoway to wife whilst his brother, Prince Tristan, was wed to Lady Yseult Lannister*, the later in exchange for forgiveness of a loan lent to their late father, Boniface I. By the Lady Rhea, His Grace had the following children:
Bertrand II Gardener
Manfred Gardener
Morgan Gardener, twin to Manfred
Myrielle Gardener, wed to Lord Martyn Redwyne and had issue
*The only other survivor amongst the royal family was the king’s elderly cousin, Princess Henrietta, who had joined the Silent Sisters forty years prior to his birth.
*Of the Lannisport branch.
When Queen Rhea died of a summer fever, Titus III, though saddened, quickly remarried. His choice this time was Lady Clarice Oakheart. In this Titus III was no doubt motivated by growing tensions with the new King of the Rock, Lorimar I*. Together, they had the following children:
Ceryse Gardener*, wed to Lord Amaury Crakehall* and had issue
Malora Gardener, wed first to Lord Uther Leygood, then to Lord Theobald Manderly, and lastly to Lord Tancred Peake, had issue by all three*
*Known later in life as “the Leper King” and “the Masked Monarch.”
*Became a septa at the great motherhouse in Lannisport upon her husband’s death.
*Second son of Lord Joffrey Crakehall, who joined the Warrior’s Sons upon his wife’s death and rose to the position of Grand Captain**.
**In that capacity, he led a campaign against the Iron Isles, thereby freeing hundreds of thralls.
*This led to a rare instance of amiability between Dunstonbury and Starpike.
Titus III later perished of the bloody flux whilst warring with the Storm King and his Dornish allies*. (By this point, Queen Clarice had herself already passed away of a winter chill.)
*An alliance sealed by the marriage of the Storm King’s heir (Prince Durran Durrandon) to Princess Ysabel Yronwood.
PART II
Upon ascending the throne, King Bertrand II proved his mettle by avenging his father in a most spectacular manner. Leading ten thousand hastily-gathered men on a series of forced marches, he took the combined Stormlander-Dornish army by surprise as it sat encamped beneath the walls of Ashford. In the rout that followed, the Storm King was captured along with a dozen lords and threescore knights. As a result of this great feat, singers* began calling him “Bertrand the Bold” and “Bertrand Stormquencher.”
*Their verses tend to omit the finer details, such as the ruinous ransoms Bertrand II used to build additional riverine defenses.
To celebrate this victory and the peace it brought, Bertrand II hosted a great ball at Highgarden. Amongst the attendees was Lady Alyce Hightower*, the unwitting source of so much woe to come.
*The daughter and only child of Lord Hugor Hightower by his lady wife, Desdemona Dayne, who he wed to end a feud** between Ser Iago Dayne, Sword of the Morning, and his vassal, Lord Robeson Cuy.
**What’s more, Lord Cuy’s second son, Barris, was fostered with King Othello Dayne and Ser Iago’s daughter, Emilia, made cupbearer to Lord Cuy.
With her raven hair and violet eyes*, Lady Alyce was hailed as one of the greatest beauties of her time. Little wonder, then, that both Prince Manfred and Prince Morgan asked her for a dance and in doing so, nearly came to blows.
*Often omitted from the songs is her dusky skin, which gave Lady Alyce a somewhat exotic flair.
Though identical in appearance* and inseparable as children, the twin sons of Titus III were, as grown men, implacable foes. To avoid being mistaken for one another, Prince Manfred took to wearing white gloves and Prince Morgan to wearing green gloves. When that failed to suffice, Prince Morgan carved a seven-pointed star into his left cheek.
*Tall, lean, and handsome, with brown hair and grey-green eyes.
A fortnight after the ball, Prince Manfred took the Lady Alyce to wife. While King Bertrand and Queen Bethany* were both displeased the marriage had taken place without their leave, Prince Morgan was apoplectic with rage. Indeed, so much so he almost strangled the squire* who brought him the news.
*Bethany of House Blackbar. Sister to King Bertrand’s boon companion, Lord Brandon Blackbar, and mother to his successor, Lyonel I Gardener. She died of a stroke.
*Adhemar Conklyn, who went on to become a sworn enemy of Prince Morgan.
The following year Lady Alyce delivered a healthy boy her lord husband named Edmund. Alas, Prince Manfred did not long enjoy the pleasure of fatherhood for a moon’s turn later he perished in a hunting accident*.
*Though nothing was ever proven, many found the timing of his death suspicious, especially in light of later events.
The royal court was still in mourning when word came that the Lady Alyce had remarried, this time to Prince Morgan. Naturally, the news was met with outrage by king, queen, and commons alike. When His Grace tried to have the marriage undone though, declaring it a form of incest, the High Septon surprised everyone by allowing the marriage to stand*. King Bertrand then decreed that his nephew was to be fostered with Lord Aragorn Hewett*. Furthermore, he assigned Ser Braxton Cuy* to be Prince Edmund’s sworn shield and in the same breath forbad his brother as well as his goodsister from ever returning to court in his lifetime*.
*Some say His High Holiness was driven to this by a desire to assert the Starry Sept’s independence and authority. That said, His High Holiness also forbad them from living together for two years so as to avoid any ambiguity in the matter of their first child’s parentage.
*Much later, Prince Edmund was, at his own request, betrothed to Lady Lucy Grimm, a companion of Lord Hewett’s daughters.
*Cousin to Lord Triston Cuy and son to Ser Damon Cuy, who served as the master-at-arms at Sunhouse. Called “the Knight of the Sun” for his golden hair, the suns that adorned his personal device (Blue, three yellow suns, with a yellow tressure), and the time he defeated seven knights (Ser Addam Ambrose, Ser Humfrey Ball, Ser Floris Footly, Ser Bayard Mooton, Ser Philip Payne, Ser Leo Farman, Ser Joscelin Redfort) in a melee that lasted from morning to midday. (Lord Robeson had recently died of a bad belly.)
*King Bertrand later reversed this decision at the behest of his second wife**, who successfully argued that the shedding of family ties was anathema before the Mother.
**Jadis of House Florent. Cousin to His High Holiness (born Frederyck Florent) through the male line. She bore King Bertrand a single daughter, Flora Gardener***.
***When the deaf and simple-minded princess choked on a lamprey pie at the tender age of six, her mother grew sick with grief, so much so many feared she might die. (The queen would indeed come to die of grief but for her stepson rather than her daughter.)
Over the course of the next decade, Lady Alyce had the following children by the second of her princely husbands:
Eustace Gardener, promised to Lady Melisende Peake
Morgan Gardener* (Morgan the Younger to distinguish him from his father, Morgan the Elder)
Maris Gardener, wed to Lord Guy Graceford and had issue
*Fostered with Lord Mace Mullendore. Wed to Lady Melisende Peake after Prince Eustace’s death.
Shortly after Prince Eustace won his spurs at the great winter tourney held in honor of his parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary*, he was accused by Ser Arthur Appleton of having raped the knight’s maiden daughter, Adara. Most believed Prince Eustace would insist on proving his innocence at hazard of his body. Instead, he surprised all by demanding a trial by seven. As accused and accuser were both highborn knights, King Bertrand had no choice but to wash his hands of the matter*.
Prince Eustace’s champions:
Prince Eustace Gardener, died after the battle
Prince Morgan Gardener (the Elder)
Ser George Hastwyck of the Order of the Green Hand, slain
Ser Artys Dunn, slain
Ser Thierry Mullendore (the Knight of Butterflies), slain
Ser Addam Ambrose (the Fighting Ant), slain
Lord Conrad Costayne (the Mighty), slain
Ser Arthur’s champions:
Ser Arthur Appleton (the Sour Apple), slain
Ser Balian Osgrey (the Lionheart), slain
Ser Adhemar Conklyn, slain
Ser Everard Cuy of the Order of the Green Hand, slain
Ser Raynald Chester of the Order of the Green Hand, slain
Lord Theodwin Tarly (the Terrible), slain
Lord Bohemond Serry, slain
*This took place in Oldtown.
*King Bertrand’s health was failing** at a time when war between the Westerlands, the Riverlands, and the Iron Isles loomed large over Westeros**.
**Consumption.
**Given these circumstances, it should come as no surprise that King Bertrand sought to secure his southeastern flank by betrothing the future Lyonel I to Lady Sibylla Caron.
Three centuries later, Archmaester Anselm would argue most persuasively in his treatise, The Virgin Apple: Being an Account of the Fates of Prince Eustace Gardener and Lady Adara Appleton*, that Ser Arthur had, in truth, been no more than a catspaw for friends and supporters of the late Prince Manfred. Regardless of the actual truth, the most immediate effect of the trial’s outcome was to bring to a boil the long-simmering tensions that had undermined King Betrand’s reign. Luckily, His Grace did not live to see the storm break.
*Lady Adara Appleton, daughter of Ser Arthur Appleton and Lady Elinor Strong, would disappear under mysterious circumstances shortly after the trial.
A hundred days after the trial, King Bertrand II breathed his last. Highgarden mourned and all the Reach with it.
Meanwhile, in Oldtown, Lady Alyce Hightower herself succumbed to an infection of redspots.
PART III
Once Lyonel Gardener’s grief had passed, he was crowned, per tradition, with a circlet of vines and flowers. Amongst the first to do him homage was Prince Morgan, who pulled the king aside and asked to be confirmed in his use-rights as Lady Alyce’s widower. A wiser king would have consulted with his councilors and perhaps the Queen Dowager as well before responding. Alas, Lyonel I did neither of these things*. Instead, the young king upbraided his uncle in front of the whole court and accused him of trying to rob Prince Edmund of his birthright. Prince Morgan’s denials were met with scorn and he himself ordered to vacate the Hightower within a moon’s turn on pain of exile. Thus, the third son of King Titus III returned to Oldtown in a black state.
*Maesters debate to this very day why King Lyonel I responded as he did**. Some argue it was out of a love for justice, others out of love for Prince Edmund, whom His Grace was closer to than he was to Prince Morgan. Still more claim Lyonel I saw his uncle to be a threat and overmighty besides. A handful are of the opinion that King Lyonel, in his youth and inexperience, sought simply to save face by over-asserting himself. Regardless of the truth behind His Grace’s motives, the price the Reach ultimately paid remains the same.
**One such work is Maester Hendry’s Dayfly Kings and Dancing Princes: An Account of the Reign of Lyonel, First of His Name, and the War That Came After.
Once there, Prince Morgan sent ravens to every town, keep, and castle in the Reach, denouncing his nephew as a tyrant as well as a bastard*. Lyonel I and Prince Edmund then raised an army with which to invest the city*. On the thirteenth night of the siege, Prince Morgan and a hundred handpicked knights sallied out a postern gate, slaying twoscore men, amongst them King Lyonel I. Prince Edmund, come morning, lifted the siege and rushed to be crowned at Highgarden. Prince Morgan responded to this by having the new High Septon crown him on the steps of the Starry Sept*. Thus began the Dance of the Two Hands.
*Queen Bethany had been more than passing fond of the sellsword-turned-septon, Fergus Bolton**, who served as her sworn shield for two years before being abruptly dismissed by King Bertrand II for reasons that remain unclear to this day.
**The fourth son of a fourth son, Fergus journeyed south to make his fortune rather than join the Night’s Watch, fighting first for Lord Robert Royce against pirates out of the Narrow Sea, then for Lord Dorian Blackwood against Lord Berenguer Bracken, before stumbling upon the begging brother known to us only as Lamb at a crossroads inn. There, Fergus was witness to the miracle of Lamb’s healing hands and so he cast aside the Old Gods in favor of the Seven Who Are One. Parting ways from Lamb, Fergus then entered the service of King Davos IV Darklyn, only to be captured when Duskendale fell to a Stormlander army under the command of the Horned Knight, Ser Benedict Rogers. In exchange for his freedom, Fergus agreed to serve under Ser Benedict, who knighted the northman after he saved the life of a squire (Julian Rogers) during the Sack of Maidenpool. Growing weary of war, Fergus made his way to Highgarden, where he won the tourney being held to fill vacancies in King Bertrand II’s personal guard. For his boon, the northman asked to be named the queen’s champion. (Singers claim Fergus lost his heart to Queen Bethany as soon as he laid eyes upon her and for once there may well be some truth to that.) This, King Bertrand II grudgingly granted. Upon his dismissal, Fergus retired to a septry near the Cockleswent, where he wrote an account of his life and travels***.
***The only surviving copy sits in Bandallon’s library.
*Prince Morgan had previously done much to win support amongst the commons. Now his efforts bore fruit. The smallfolk rallied to the aging prince’s side, as much out of familiarity as out of respect for his piety and largesse.
*Morgan I Gardener died of his wounds half a year later and was succeeded by his second son, Morgan II.
The Dance of the Two Hands would come to a bloody end at the Battle Beneath the Red Lake, wherein fell the last scions of both branches. In such a manner did the line of Prince Tristan come to sit the Oakenseat*.
*Prince Tristan had one son by his Lannister bride, Bors Gardener. Prince Bors, in turn, had one son (Galahad I Gardener**) by his lady wife, Elaine Crakehall. (Prince Tristan died of a burst belly, Prince Bors of a pox. Lady Yseult died in childbirth, Lady Elaine of a sweating sickness.)
**Galahad I was past sixty when he became king***. (Because he was the last of his line, the High Septon released him from his vows as a septon.)
***His Grace lived just long enough to sire an heir (Galahad II Gardener****) on his young bride, Arwen Durrandon. (Princess Arwen’s mother was Lady Eowyn Lannister of Casterly Rock.)
****Galahad II would die at an advanced age of crabs in the belly.
Oldtown itself passed to Baldwin Hightower and from him to his grandson, Hugh Hightower.
#asoiaf worldbuilding#asoiaf fanfic#house gardener#the reach#asoiaf#house hightower#oldtown#highgarden
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Things people didn't know about Jacqulyn Creed
Jacqulyn is a year younger than Victor even though she's only 5'1 she looks exactly like a teenager but that's not true she's only a year younger than Victor that makes her a thousand years old of course she also has a baby face which to be honest doesn't do justice from when she looks like a teenager people always think that she's either Victor's niece or Victor's daughter but of course they always tell people her actual age and she's really Victor's wife of course it's funny but it's very weird people think it's weird but when they realize she's not really his daughter or his niece explains everything.
Jacqulyn has autism of course back then in the 1800s no one knew what autism was so they just thought she was just weird until years later in the 2000s Victor and Jacqulyn both found out she had autism she didn't really know but it's okay because it's okay to be different.
Jacqulyn Love's both sweet and salty things she also loves baking and cooking her husband even said that her cooking tasted like it came from heaven of course it was a little exaggerated but it was actual honesty from her husband and it felt good of course however she sometimes experiments with foods.
Her and her husband only had one daughter Clarice but she died when she was 8 years old nowadays Jacqulyn and Victor are starting the thing about having another baby but she's just too scared to have another baby because you know PTSD of course her and her husband talked about it and they were actually considering having another baby and of course they did have a baby well too twins a boy and a girl.
She can run really fast faster than Victor she can also make her claws look more human she also has really good hearing and a really good sense of smell and good eyesight she also has a really big heart not literally figuratively she's basically one of the most kindest mutants in the world of course people think that would make her an easy target but no she's smart as well really smart also she has a really bad temper problem but she learns to control her temper more often.
She sometimes enjoys reading a book on her phone or an actual book and those times would be either at home when her husband is at work or when her and her husband are on a road trip either way she loves to read and sometimes write books of her own.
I hope you all like this also please do not copyright or repost this without my permission also don't be afraid to request any fanfic I will take any fanfic except yandere
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Summary: Jin Watanabe is used to saving everyone, but what happens when the curse says enough is enough and all possible positions are filled within the circus? How can a director who had never sacrificed one of his own break the curse?
Warning ⚠️ : mentions of death, weapons, suicide
Characters in mention here belong to: @kc-and-co @cursebreakerfarrier
A year, Jin lamented once more as he wrote inside the journal he kept just like every other director. It was all that Angela gave him, so she could walk him through it, teach him. Teach him what? He was far more intelligent and well read than she was. However that did not matter.
Despite her not leaving a shred of darkness behind, Jin felt as if he had lost count of the years he had spent as the head of the circus, despite diligently documenting them.
However he carefully took steps and made choices, each planned, his crew reaching the maximum number and even then he tried to help and accommodate those who sought him out for help. But despite his impeccable reputation there were times when no one dared to question him or deny the darkness that he tried so hard to hide.
His touch left its mark on the performance, each wearing masks, hiding behind the demon like faces as if the lights could blind them, as if by one glimpse of their faces the world would know of the shame the curse brings to each generation.
Then there was the affair of his key that refused to come and show itself, at one point even the seer becoming concerned. He saw nothing but darkness in the upcoming future and slowly Jin also started losing hope.
A soft knock on his door tore his attention away from the journal “Come in.” watching her cross the threshold, Jin turned his attention back to the small desk in his caravan “What can I do for you today miss Hellebore?”
“Need I remind you how many years we have known each other by now? Have I not earned at least the courtesy of being addressed by my first name especially considering I am your wife.”
“Just a habit, apologies Clarice, how can I help?”
She slowly approached him, reluctantly placing a hand on his shoulder “Why did you marry me when there is another out there for you?”
She felt him tense upon contact, Jin providing the same reply he always did “To save you.”
“Saving me is one thing, making me your second in command and wife another affair altogether.”
“You are loyal, cunning and strong. That is all I require from you. Now what is the real reason behind your visit?” he felt her removing her hand, Jin turning a page, waiting.
“They’re back, demanding the same as ever. Do you want me to deal with them?”
Shaking his head, he closed the journal “No need. Thank you.”
Traversing the terrain, heavy mask against his face, Jin’s eyes searched the crowd of people. All the same, never changing despite the multitude of faces looking back at him. They were all colorless, false. Reaching the gates, he stood in front of a couple, their faces just the same. He knew them yes since a few times each year, they would appear at the circus asking if they had any openings.
“The situation has not changed.” He spoke, attention being caught by a third member further back, concealing himself in the shadows, smoke rising from a lit cigarette “I have not even a single position, not to mention three. Your son?”
“Yes.” The woman nodding, Jin tilting his head.
“Why would you subject your next of kin to the circus?”
“Mister Watanabe…” the husband spoke, Jin lifting his hand to silence him.
“Let me make some things clear so that we all stop wasting each other’s time. First and foremost, do not use my name since you did not have the curtesy or telling me yours. Secondly, I will not be taking in a couple even if you wish to join out of your free will. There are no slots available. Lastly, if and I am speaking theoretically, something were to happen to you two, your son would be called upon to join. I do not believe that is something you want.”
“Nothing will happen to us. We will work hard and earn out keep. Please, my wife is sick.”
Jin chuckled, hands digging inside his pockets as he started laughing. Of course, they must have heard something “Are you here to replace me?” he asked drily.
From the shadows, the man stirred, moving closer to his parents “Let’s go.”
Jin stared at him, one leg crossing the circus threshold, a jolt of pain reminding him to fall back, yet he stared at the man that approached his parents. He had seen many humans, but never one with such darkness in his cold eyes. Scars across his face told stories, of violence and more than likely brutality “Who are you?”
“Akira Crane, since you were so curious to learn a name, director.” He spitefully spoke out. Nodding his head, he ushered his parents as Jin fell back in line behind the invisible threshold.
He needed to sleep on it, think about how to approach the situation. If Orion saw nothing but darkness in his future, he was certain he had just stared into it and the darkness finally stared back at him. Morning came accompanied by screams, Jin rushing inside the main tent to witnessed his trapeze crew strung up from the very props they used during the shows.
And with death comes a thicker darkness, the ground as if shaking underneath Jin’s feet, the sound of his heart hammering, growing louder. Clarice extended a shaky hand towards him, the dark swirls as if lashing out at her before Jin marched outside of the main tent.
And outside of the circus stood a single man, looking back at him.
“You will never be welcomed here. And even if by some tragic twist of fate you and those you love shall cross inside, it will be torture, it will be loveless, it will be so lonely. That I promise you.”
Lifting his brows slightly, Akira just shrug his shoulders “Fine by me, I never did wish to join.”
So let there be thick fog and silent sobs. Let there be echoes of screams, everyone hiding from the director for fear of what he might do. And Jin detested it. He wanted to claw at his skin for he felt the evil lurking in his veins. He could feel the darkness grip his heart, a painful breath leaving his lungs. Helpless, that’s how he felt. Unable to save them, any of them.
And the circus responded in full.
Paint appeared to chip in certain places. Vibrant colors turning dull little by little. The wind howled as Jin stayed in the main tent lamenting over his loss, his crew, his life.
“Clarice!” he yelled, the woman appearing shortly after, trying to make herself as small as possible as she approached “Bring me my gun.”
“What?”
Grabbing her arm, he breathed heavily “That is an order. This has to end, if not I will destroy this place, I will bring to it more darkness. Can you not see? There is no light.”
She shook her head, the forces whispering in her head to obey “Please, I can’t do this without you. I can’t be the next director.”
“Then you have but a few minutes to find another to replace you.” Letting her go, she retreated in order to fulfil her command. Looking down at his hands, he screamed as he saw the darkness creeping up on him “Stop it. Stop it!”
“Stop what sir?” lifting a pair of startled eyes he looked at Oliver Gerard.
“Does not matter. What can I do for you?”
Smiling, he approached “I was wondering if we will be closing today due to the…” he stopped himself, searching for the proper words “Do you want me to put up the posters announcing we are closed for the day?”
Jin’s eyes widened, before he just nodded, Oliver turning around to leave “Mister Gerard, may I ask you something? Why are you not afraid right now?”
He turned back around, soft eyes looking at Jin “I am. But despite the tragic loss we suffered I know that we can make it out of this. The show will go on and we will continue to perform.” Approaching him, Jin inhaled, holding his breath for a few seconds “Sir?”
“You are in charge of the rides, but I have seen you dancing and singing for the children and ladies. How would you like to become a part of the main act?” he saw Oliver’s eyes light up at that prospect “Better yet” as Jin spoke he felt as if the fog was lifting from his brain “how about I make you even something better? The second in command, yes.” The darkness as if retreating for a moment to the shadows, lurking, waiting “That is it, you shall be from now on my second in command.”
“Me sir?” he could not believe his ears, Oliver looking around the main tent as if waiting for the rest of the crew to come out of the shadows and tell him it is all a prank.
“Yes. Your heart is not contaminated. You have the ability to make this right, to make this place great again.”
But when the next day dawned on the circus, two more spots were opened when the sound of two gunshots were heard. Inside Jin’s caravan, him and his wife laid in a pool of blood, a single note left behind with instructions for the new director, Oliver Gerard.
As he picked it up with shaky hands, his mind foggy as knowledge he had never carried before made its way inside his brain, words about not allowing Akira Crane or his family inside the circus were scribbled down. And if by any way they managed to coax him in accepting them, he needed to be careful as they wished to get to the top.
Walking close to him, Orion placed a gentle hand on Oliver’s shoulder “It will be alright, there’s hope yet for you. Welcome director.”
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so i don't know if i'll write this cause it would probably become really long and i don't know if i have time for that or i might write it as like one-shots or snippets but the idea is rather than Jason buying into the idea of the military he becomes a cop and is sent on an undercover job where he meets Salim after him and Nick fuck up during a 911 call
Jason and Nick were partners; they responded to a call and an innocent woman died
Nick got most of the blame kicked onto him cause he shot her and is on a mental health leave of absence when the story begins while Jason gets transferred to a new precinct and kicked to Narcotics and the incident kind of gets swiped under the rug
Rachel is the police chief, the youngest in the city, and is still known as the queen bitch for how she rose to the top so quickly
Merwin is also a police officer while Joey has a civilian job at the station
Eric and Clarice work at a tech company (honestly probably wouldn't play into the story that much)
Jason is chosen for an undercover job though it's really more a way to further keep the incident under wraps and because he's seen as expendable at this point
Jason is undercover for several months when he gets addicted
Salim lost custody of his son five years ago because he was wrongly accused and framed for drug possession; he could have done a plea deal but because he maintained his innocence it went to trial and blew up in his face
Salim was in prison for nearly three years, on parole for two
During parole he tried to find a way to get his son back
Zain was put into the system and they've written letters to each other and Salim has recently been able to call him as long as the calls are recorded but he hasn't seen Zain in years
Salim hits roadblock after roadblock and is barely able to afford a roof over his head by the time he's a free man
Salim's old friend Dar gets him a job that Salim quickly realizes is a front but with little else to turn to and with a possible (if desperate) plan to get his son back, he joins
to keep from making OCs Balathu and Kurum would be a part of this
Naram-Sin is in charge of the operation (no one knows his real name though he chose the cover name because of the historical context)
Salim later finds out Dar got in line with this business to get his wife proper medical treatment for some serious illness that his old job wouldn't support and now he's just in too deep
Salim's been working there a year when him and Jason cross paths (Jason's been undercover a full year by this point)
They work together some and at first absolutely hate each other
the tension turns to sexual tension and through small interactions, they actually start to learn about the other
Through this, the only real confident Jason has is Nick (he shouldn't be meeting with him but he is and at this point Nick's left the police force)
A big bust is finally starting to move forward though Jason isn't near enough to connecting everything with Naram-Sin (only a few of the higher ups in the organization would likely be indicted) which he finds suspicious
When the bust is in play, Jason realizes Salim would likely be one of the ones going to jail and ends up sabotaging it
At some point Salim is able to figure out Jason is the rat but rather than revealing it Salim promises Jason he'll keep his secret if he helps him with certain things that will procure a safe way for him and his son to be reunited
while the case has to be reworked due to Jason purposefully screwing things up, Jason begins to see things aren't as black and white and begins to realize the ideas he bought into were far from being honest
him and Salim learn more about each other again, this time with Jason being 100% honest
while working together Salim helps Jason get clean again
as everything starts to come to a head, breadcrumbs start to come together that makes Jason realize the op he was put on was never about actually dismantling the organization, but just putting enough in the public's eye to appease them and lead people looking elsewhere
the active criminal organizations have appeared to change with police cracking down on big operations every few years but in reality its been funded by politicians and those in charge of the police to create this cyclical loop of crime to fund their pockets and to keep certain people in office while making invisible lines that traps the poor and disenfranchised
Rachel doesn't know about the police's involvement but has her suspicions; she's allowed herself to know just enough that she can prevent herself from being fucked over while also being able to give plausible deniability
Merwin is on the payroll and a talk between him and Jason is partially how Jason confirms it all to be true
Jason realizes he can't undo what's been done, but he wants to at least try to make up for past mistakes
Jason and Salim form a plan that allows for Salim to get out, get his son, and cross the border
Salim thinks Jason has an out in the plan but in reality Jason doesn't
Salim gets out, Jason manages to expose the political corruption but gets shot during everything
Jason goes into a coma but survives
After recovering, Salim risks coming back to the states under his falsified name to see Jason one last time and either it ends with them getting one last goodbye or it ends with Jason leaving with Salim
and to think this entire idea came from the horny thought of undercover cop!Jason and criminal!Salim fucking and mid-fuck Salim reveals he knows Jason is the rat lol
#jalim#jason kolchek#salim othman#house of ashes#jason x salim#fic idea#feel free to use these ideas if you want#again no idea if i'll write it but i wanted to get my outline down
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Three Part Harmony (17/?)
The rest of the story can be found here.
The date, Rhonda thought, had seemed like a good idea at the time. But now that she’d gone out with Jerry, he was more persistent than ever that she go out with him again. It made going in to work–where she knew he’d be waiting for her–even more nerve wracking than life in the last week and half already was.
She pulled into her normal parking spot next to the dumpster behind the diner and took a deep, cleansing breath. The dark sedan that had been her constant shadow was no longer tailing her so far as she could tell, and she had been watching diligently.
The dry goods from her grocery store jaunt were still tucked safely in the trunk of her car in case she got a chance to head back to the cabin, but she had not felt confident enough in her safety–and that of Mulder and Scully and little William–to yet try.
She grabbed her purse and headed in through the back door of the diner and on through to her locker, avoiding the ever watchful eye of Fred when she clocked in. Rhonda was only scheduled to work the lunch shift today, and the end of the breakfast rush was still humming along if the noise and clatter from the dining room was any indication. She was just closing up her locker when the door opened and Clarice walked in.
“Oh!” said the younger woman. “Ron, I almost forgot you were working today.”
Rhonda smiled at her and shrugged.
“I don’t suppose Jerry thinks the same thing?” she hedged hopefully. “That I’m not on today and maybe he’s drinking coffee at home?”
Clarice smiled at her sympathetically.
“‘Fraid not,” she said. “He’s holding court and waiting for you, just like always.”
Rhonda felt her shoulder slump, but sighed, resigned to her fate. “Anyway,” Clarice went on. “There’s no way he would have left yet today anyway. Not with all the excitement going on.”
A dart of unease piercing her chest, Rhonda raised an eyebrow.
“Excitement?”
Clarice’s eyes lit up. Whatever she was about to tell Rhonda, she’d been dying to share.
“That couple that took that baby last week? That those FBI agents were in here about? They caught ‘im.”
Rhonda felt the blood drain from her face.
“They found the baby?” she asked, her voice oddly high pitched.
Clarice shook her head, disappointed. “No. Just the man. Joe was in here this morning,” she went on, referring to Joe Watson, one of the local Sheriff’s deputies. “Said they caught the guy up at the Walmart in Rover. Buying supplies. Diapers and everything. Redhanded.”
Clarice was clearly riding the high of the sensational drama and wanted to dish, but Rhonda could feel her stomach sinking to her toes, and she lowered herself to sit on the small bench in front of the lockers.
“Guess that means the baby must be okay,” Rhonda said distractedly.
“Yeah,” Clarice agreed. “Though they haven’t found that poor thing yet. Or the guy’s wife. Hey, you okay?”
Rhonda was not okay. Her thoughts were a swirling miasma of terror and regret and shame. She had failed that little family. Suddenly, the meager breakfast she’d eaten that morning started rushing up her esophagus. She lurched past Clarice and into the first stall, retching what remained of the food into the cold white bowl.
Clarice made a concerned noise from behind her, but Rhonda straightened and wiped the back of her hand across her chin, standing.
“I’ve gotta go,” she said suddenly, pushing past the other waitress to rinse off her hands in the sink.
“Oh my god, yes of course,” Clarice said, her brows knitted together in worry. “You’re sick. I’ll take your shift. Tomorrow’s too.”
Rhonda gave her a grateful look in the mirror, then rushed over to her locker and grabbed her purse and coat. She paused in the doorway, wanting to say something to the younger woman, but instead just nodded at her and rushed out the back of the restaurant.
XxXxXxXxXxX
Scully paced in front of the big bay windows, somewhat confident in their safety while William napped in his back bedroom. She had several major problems, and no real way of dealing with any of them.
She hadn’t the faintest notion how to go about getting Mulder back, if he had really and truly been captured—and with their supplies nearly out and their only mode of transportation gone, Scully and William were in a pretty serious situation; they had almost nothing to eat and no way of going out to get something.
There was a landline to the cottage, but no one had yet called it, and the only numbers she could think to call herself were likely being monitored.
The bottom line was, she was in deep shit.
As she stood, contemplating the merits of walking out to the road with her son in a baby carrier and trying her hand at hitchhiking, the sound of a car engine once again carried in from the front of the cabin.
She whipped her head toward the sound, fearing a return of the dark sedan, hoping for a glimpse of Mulder in the Grand Prix, but what she saw instead was Rhonda’s old Datsun, flying down the rutted drive at entirely too fast a pace. Scully watched as the car skidded to halt on the frozen dirt, and the next thing she knew, Rhonda stumbled through the door and looked as though she were about to collapse upon seeing Scully.
“Oh thank God!” the older woman quailed, closing the gap and throwing her arms around Scully in a simpering relief.
Scully, quite relieved herself at seeing her waitress-shaped salvation, clung tightly to her for a long moment before the older woman pulled back.
“Honey, I don't know how to say this,” Rhonda said, bringing her hands up to cup Scully’s cheeks. “But…”
“They have Mulder,” Scully whispered, hating the awful truth of saying it out loud. “I know.”
XxXxXxXxXxX
Mulder sat in the small interview room in the Sheriff’s office with metal handcuffs biting into his wrists. It had been nothing more than rotten luck and bad timing, and Mulder had no one to blame but himself.
He’d thought he was home free–had made it into the superstore with no issues and bought everything he needed, paying with cash and loading the car without a single person in the parking lot so much as looking in his direction. He’d breathed a sigh of relief and pulled out of the Walmart parking lot, the needle of his inner compass pointing toward his waiting family.
What he hadn’t done, and what he was now kicking himself for, was to pop the rear fender with his fist before he got in the car, as the man who had sold him the Grand Prix told him to do in order to avoid having the driver’s side tail light blink out while on the road. And not a half-block from the parking lot, that’s exactly what the car’s tail light did. And was spotted by a local cop, who had nothing better to do that morning than pull Mulder over.
He no doubt had Mulder and Scully’s wanted pictures sitting on his passenger seat, as quick as he was to pull his gun on Mulder and ask him to step out of the vehicle. The man was no doubt now collecting congratulatory back thumps out in the bullpen from every cop in the tristate area.
The only law enforcement officer who didn’t have a smile on his face upon seeing Mulder being frogmarched through the Sheriff’s department after his arrest had been FBI Assistant Director Walter Skinner, who had followed Mulder’s progress through the booking process with the searing disappointment of a father watching their kid stumble through the front door four hours after curfew.
He wore the same expression now, as he walked through the door to the interview room and lowered himself into the chair opposite Mulder with a weary sigh.
Neither man spoke for several long moments, the chains of Mulder’s cuffs making the only sound in the plain gray room.
“A tail light,” Skinner finally exhaled, popping his eyes up to Mulder’s.
Mulder could do naught but shrug. “They got Capone on taxes.”
“This isn’t funny, Mulder.”
“Do you see me laughing?”
Skinner leaned back in the chair and rubbed a hand over his bald pate. “Where’s Scully?”
At this, Mulder did actually laugh. “I think we can dispense with questions that you know for a fact I’ll never answer.”
Skinner could only look at him. “We’re not being recorded or monitored.”
“Well in that case, Walter, I’ll tell you everything I know.” Mulder couldn’t help but let the sarcasm drip from his words.
His former boss sighed again. “Is she safe?”
“So far.” Mulder thought of where she was now, marooned in the Tetons. He fought a swell of anger, at himself, at Skinner.
“And the boy?”
“You mean my son?” Mulder couldn’t help but be prickly. Skinner may have warned them about the danger the boy faced, but he also appeared to be leading the charge on bringing them all in. Mulder was pretty sure his motivations were from a place of wanting to help, but he was also in a curious and precarious position with regard to his day job, and at some point, Mulder figured, self-preservation was bound to kick in.
Skinner’s shoulders sagged.
“Is he okay? He wasn’t hurt? At the farmhouse?”
“He’s okay,” Mulder said.
“That was a hell of a thing we walked into.”
“You’re telling me.”
Skinner leveled a look at him and then threw one over his shoulder as if making sure the interview room door was closed.
“It’s out of my hands what they end up charging you with, Mulder,” he said, turning back to him, his voice low, almost pleading. “You’re officially still wanted for Knowle Rohrer’s death. Escaping military custody.” Skinner leaned forward. “But I need to know, how many counts of murder are they going to tack on?”
“Depends,” Mulder said, thinking of the two men in the nursery that William had held in suspended animation. “How many bodies did you find?”
Skinner gave him a confused look.
Mulder knew he would never get a fair shake from any other cop that came through the interview room door, but Skinner of all people would believe him, and he wanted to set the story straight at least once. Trusting that Skinner was being honest about their conversation not being listened to, Mulder leaned forward earnestly.
“I’m not being glib, sir,” he explained. “And going forward, I will be exercising my right to remain silent. But when we left that house, I’m not sure how many bodies we left behind.”
“Explain,” his former superior said, throwing another look over his shoulder. They probably didn’t have much time.
“The parents were already dead when we arrived,” Mulder said, and Skinner nodded grimly. He probably had already suspected as much. “And they’d managed to take out one of their attackers.”
“The shotgun victim?” Skinner asked.
Mulder nodded brusquely. “And I was attacked not long after we arrived. I defended myself.” He could still feel his hands around the man’s neck, the dark satisfaction of squeezing, of exacting the rage he felt at all the injustices he’d suffered while doing the best he could for his infant son.
Skinner’s jaw tightened, but he nodded at Mulder to go on.
“When we got to the nursery…” Mulder paused, picturing the terrifying scene in his head. “The mother was already gone. And the two other bodies there…I don’t know what William did to them, but…”
Skinner suddenly looked puzzled.
“There weren’t two men there? Dead on the floor?” Mulder asked, remembering the way they’d crumpled to the floor when Scully had scooped up their wailing son.
“There was only the mother,” Skinner said. He narrowed his eyes. “What did William do?”
A heavy weight suddenly pressed on Mulder’s chest. “He’s capable of more than anyone can dream,” he said quickly. “And they know it now. You have to protect him, sir.”
Mulder watched as the man’s Adam’s apple bobbed and he opened his mouth to say something when there was a sharp rap at the door.
Skinner turned and stood as a dark complexioned man in a suit took a step inside the room, his look expectant.
“No more questioning, Agent Bryson,” Skinner said, which earned him a less than cheery look. “He’s asking for counsel.”
Skinner made his way to the door and stared the other agent down, who gave Mulder an almost murderous look before turning to leave. Skinner followed him out and the door snapped shut behind them with a terrifying finality.
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The Rowntrees Ultimate Decades Challenge - 1369 Winter & Spring
Content warning for death yet again, also famine and war, I love this challenge
The rumored famine came quickly, and the fields were bare soon after the beginning of 1359. The chickens had to go and the Rowntrees started fretting for their financial situation. With the entire village penniless, spending all their money on food on the rare occasion it was available, their shop was losing traffic. The second floor of the house still needed to be rebuilt after the fire, and that seemed unlikely.
During the famine food was scarce, and the family resorted to eating gruel for almost every meal. The Hedgecocks were especially struggling, and Kymmie was grateful she didn't have any young children to care for. Everyone was always hungry and exhausted.
Soon, Gilbert's sister Clarice passed away. Although she was often rude, her passing greatly affected Gilbert, who was now left to take care of a toddler and an entire house by himself.
This event completely destroyed Gilbert, and Kymmie did her best to help him. In the past two years, Gilbert lost his wife, sister, and two children. Gilbert couldn't imagine living on as a serf, with no crops to farm and no food to feed to his daughter.
In May, news arrived at the village: war was coming. The war from their parents' childhoods against France had returned again, and English peasants were wanted to go fight for the king. Gilbert came knocking at Kymmie's door that night with big news: he wanted to go fight. There seemed to be no point in staying at the village anymore. But he needed to make sure Sabina was taken care of. Would Kymmie take her in?
Kymmie had gotten close to Gilbert since they were the only two alive adults in their families, and despite the dangers of war, she knew this was the best thing for him. Kymmie was scared to take care of a toddler during a famine, but knew that with the store still somewhat functioning, she was the best parent Sabina could have.
Sabina moved into the household that night, and Kymmie was excited to have a kid to take care of in the house again. Now that Finnian was a teen, the two of them were growing apart.
Finnian was busy helping out in the house since the fire, so when Regina sneaked him into her bedroom, they hadn't seen each other in a couple of months. Finnian had been feeling complicated about his relationship with Regina, and they only amplified when he went into her house for the first time. Regina lived in a castle, and people cooked and dressed her and made her bed. Her bedspread probably cost more than Finnian's house. But he tried to be polite.
"I'm sad you haven't been around," Regina told him. "Especially with the war going on, I really need this relationship as an escape right now."
This annoyed Finnian. He tried to be polite but sitting in this bedroom, hearing Regina complain, reminded him of how much easier her life was.
"My sister died and my house got burned, and I had to spend all my time working so we can fix it. Sorry I couldn't be your escape, but unlike you, my family can't afford to have someone else fix our problems," Finnian spat. "And the war? My brother-in-law is going there, and unlike your wealthy relatives he's probably going to die."
Regina rolled her eyes. "You take everything so seriously! My dad is at war too, and I'm not complaining about it all the time because I try to find happiness in things and have belief in God. If you weren't always focused on the things going wrong around you, you'd be happy too."
"You only care about your own happiness, and you've just been using me this whole time for yourself!" yelled Finnian. "You always put me in dangerous situations that you know you'd be able to wiggle out of! You don't care about me or anybody else! And you made me waste my youth on somebody I could never have a future with!"
"If you hate me that much, you don't have to see me," said Regina in disgust.
"Fine. I won't."
Finnian sneaked out the same way he came in.
#so much happened this year so it's gonna be in two halves#ts4 story#ultimate decades challenge#the sims 4#ts4#ts4 historical#the rowntrees#the rowntrees 1360s#ts4 simblr#udc
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