No no no I’m good I’m definitely not thinking about Natasha Grimm Pitch Visiting her son again when he’s 38 years old and him being a little afraid of her judgement and he saying something like
“Oh little puff, I would have changed the world for you. I would have changed my mind.”
(And also her saying something along the lines of “Say hello to Malcom and Fiona for me, and tell Daphne thank you, for picking up the pieces, and loving you when I could not.” And smiling at Simon and giving them each a kiss on the temple and leaving to wait peacefully behind the Veil)
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blow on the tinder
I thought becoming the first female head of Watford was the toughest challenge I had ever overcome. Before that, I thought it was convincing my parents- strict, powerful and rather supercilious, to let me marry a Grimm, a lower class farmer. Before even that, I thought it was passing the tests to get into Watford, as a woman of colour in the 80s, when the board consisted entirely of white men. I am not so privileged as to not realise that my own grandfather being one of the assessors helped me, but I still think my own merits carried me pretty far. I have always been relentless, a fighter. This is just the newest challenge on a list that I am sure I have not reached the end of, and as always, I am prepared to fight.
read chapter four on ao3!
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Is just me, or Malcolm Grimm must be a total hot silver fox dilf babe? for Natasha fighting and actually duel people to marry him, and Daphne being eager marrying him at such young age and having offspring asap?
We know his personality is reserved, strict, avoidant and even shy and estoic. He is a 'farm man', righteous, his manners being all courteous and adoring for his family and wife. Im sure he is not the kind of man showy of his wealth or flirteous, so he must be a looker. Im sure his wives approached him first.
Proof is Baz is a beautiful creature, and even we know he got his looks from his mom, Grimm genes must be an important part of it too.
Something tells me Malcolm is a total babe and Rainbow didn't told us 👀
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★— ⋆。˚ [Dreams Lost]
For Day 11 of Carry on Countdown 23, Side Ships/Alternative Ships. @carryon-countdown
A twelve-year-old Basil thinks about his mother, his father, and the relationship they'd had once upon a time, through the lens of their wedding album.
This is rated G, for General Audiences. For once in my life, Basil's not cussing.
⋆。˚
Sometimes, Basilton likes to fantasize that he’s at his parent’s wedding. Not just for no reason, no. He supposes it might not be an uncommon sort of fantasy or daydream, but for Baz it comes from less the wedding itself and more the soft memories of going through the old photo album with his mother before that day at Watford. Once upon a time, she would sit him on her lap and point out all the people in the photos, quoting them and letting him flip the pages gently with his chubby little toddler hands.
His mother’s meticulous care of books just one of many reflections of her that live within Basil to this day, her words still echoing in his mind. “Remember where you got it from, what order it was in, be careful with the pages and when you put it back on the shelf.” His memories of every lesson she’d taught him still fresh in his mind and it’s no wonder this old album is a part of where those habits had come from.
“There’s only so many copies of this book in existence, little puff, we have to be especially careful when we handle this one,” She would tell him, and he would lean his little body back against her chest and listen while she rambled on him about all about how she’d won his father’s hand.
So in times when Basil misses her in excess, to the point where he can’t quite sleep, he slips his way downstairs and pulls down the album from the mantel and recalls her voice and her stories. He often finds himself there the summer after his twelfth birthday, recalling her scratchy hands and raspy voice, a contrast to her soft hold keeping him pulled warm against her touch.
Natasha Pitch had always been full of life and that was never truer than it had been on the day of her wedding. Her smile had been all teeth the whole day long, from the dressing room and private glasses of wine with Fiona all the way to the aisle, walking herself down towards her husband to be, purposeful and determined.
The crowd was a small one, the wedding party even smaller, but that’s what happened when an old magick girl married a simple farmboy. You could tell she didn’t care about the difference in their power or families or history though, Natasha’s eyes sparkled only for Malcolm, and him? He adored her wholly.
He was so soft standing there, his face round and full of joy. Malcolm Grimm still had his simple view of life then, nothing there to complicate things in his mind. The only thing he was thinking about on the day of his wedding was how beautiful Natasha’s looking in her dress and how much he couldn’t wait to dance with her after the ceremony.
Malcolm’s caught crying twice-over during the vows, but he was smiling brighter than ever, even as his wife stood half a head taller than him, intimidating in her heels. She had to lean down to meet him in their kiss, her hands holding his tight, that grip showing even in grainy photos years and years later.
Baz would like to ask if he still remembered it, but he knew his father would avoid the subject, especially remarried as he is now. Baz wishes he could remember their vows. There’s no video of the ceremony and his father never talks about the soft sides of his mother anymore, only the expectations and standards she held herself to.
Baz turns another page and her dress whirls in his mind, the skirt taking up half the dance floor even with the train pinned up. She’s smiling bright enough to blind the cameraman, a family friend, Baz knows, but he couldn’t remember who. It’s amateur work, but again, that’s what happened when your very rich family disapproved of the match. Baz can still hear her singing along to the music, like she used to sing in his ears when they reached this page, a soft impression of what had surely been a lively scene.
Malcolm laughed with every other step. Basil wishes often he would do that more often. Fiona stepped in to steal a dance from her sister and Malcolm’s smile ran all the way up into his eyes. It’s been so long since there’d been a genuine laugh between them, a deep smile like that, sometimes he wonders if his father even remembers how.
“Be generous with him, firestarter,” Basil hears her rasp in his mind, as she had told him time and again, “Remember your father is not as rigid as me. He’s strong in his own way, but you have to be patient with him.”
So many times he had tested his father, even before she had… even before everything in Basil had changed. He knows his own obstinance is another reflection of his mother and sometimes he can’t help but wonder if that’s why it’s so hard for his father to look at him properly, because looking at him is a stubborn, headstrong, striking resemblance of Natasha Grimm. He wonders if it’s his fault his father’s gone and tried to steal some of her ferocity for himself– just so Malcolm could stand a chance of survival against his own son’s iron will.
He tries not to linger too long on that train of thought, turning the page to another softer memory. Another softer Malcolm in love with his mother.
In Baz’s long, sleepless nights, looking down at these pictures in the dim light of the singular lamp he’d bothered to light, Baz can see some of that tender heart his father kept hidden so far away. The way his father tucked her thick raven hair back behind her ear, even if he had to reach up to do so, the way he kissed the corner of her mouth and made her eyes go wide with whatever he’d been saying in that photo. He could almost hear Malcolm Grimm telling his wife how much he loves her, if Baz could listen carefully enough.
He doesn’t remember all the little things she’d said about every photo, all the names of their friends and the few family members who had deigned to attend the humble service, but he feels the love his parents had between them vibrate off the page. He feels the dedication they’d had for each other, the deep, deep affection in every careful touch their family friend turned cameraman had managed to capture. More than that, Malcolm is so proud to be the one holding Natasha’s hand, so proud that he won her as much as she won him.
When he had been the Malcolm he had been back then, soft and supportive and probably a little naive, he’d told Natasha about how they’d have the years together, about how much he adored her, all the places they’d visit and things they’d do together. When Malcolm hadn’t had to be the head of house, he’d dreamed a future with Natasha, and in the pages of their book, Basil hears the whispers of the dreams that had been lost to them both.
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