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hb-writes · 3 years

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The Walk-In Appointment

Summary: From the Little Lady Blinder universe. Clara learns to walk a bit later than her twin, but once she does there’s no stopping her from following her big brother around wherever he goes. Set in May 1909.

Characters: Tommy Shelby, Ada Shelby, Arthur Shelby, Polly Gray, and Clara Shelby

Warnings: Swearing

Hope you enjoy this little piece since the next chapter isn’t coming yet. This was inspired by the lovely @cecii22me’s ask and I’m so absolutely softened by the idea of Clara learning to walk and chasing around her ‘Ta’ / ‘TaTa’ as that’s what I’ve decided she’d call Tommy before she could get the whole name out properly.

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Ada stood her little sister up on her feet, holding her small hands as she encouraged a bit of walking. Clara humored Ada for a few steps, always did so, but lowered herself to the ground as soon as Ada tried to pull her hands away.

Finn took his first steps a few months before his twin sister, toddling around on the first floor and out into the shop if they left the doors open with little care for his own safety. He’d taken the first steps while walking towards his mother’s outstretched arms, the baby’s smiling face as he moved towards her a bright spot in what had come to be some tiring and difficult days for the woman.

But five months later, Clara still hadn’t shown an interest. Since their mother’s passing, the baby had become more clingy, more likely to request a sibling’s or her aunt’s arms, searching every adult face around her for that of her missing mother. She’d crawl, when necessary, but more often stayed put, playing quietly by herself while Finn made a mess of things around her.

Polly told her niece and nephews to not worry about Clara’s lack of steps. One toddling Shelby was more than enough to handle and each of them had walked at different times. Clara was the latest of the six Shelby children though, now three months past her first birthday.

“Let her be, Ada,” Polly chided as Ada tried to force her younger sister up again, the toddler putting up a great protest and pulling against Ada’s hold as she tried to get back to the ground.

Ada stopped fighting with Clara, instead pulling the girl up to rest on her skinny hip. “Finny walked ages ago, Clara. Don’t you want to walk?”

“Your sister will walk when she’s ready,” Polly answered. “I can’t imagine why you’re surprised she’s just as stubborn as the rest of you.”

Ada kissed her sister’s cheek and Clara settled against Ada’s chest for a moment, her little version of a hug.

“You’re not stubborn, are you, lovey? You’re just a sweet little thing.” Ada rubbed her sister’s back. “A sweet little lovey who wants to try walking for sissy one last time.”

Ada set Clara on her feet at the moment Tommy walked through the front door, disturbing the peace of the front room as he let it slam behind him.

Tommy passed his aunt and sisters without a word on his way to the shop, ignoring the baby’s incessant repeating of his name, a continuous stream of ‘Ta Ta Ta Ta’ growing louder as he disappeared from her view.

Ada released her sister’s hands to cover her ears, anticipating the unrelenting shriek that had become commonplace when the baby didn’t get what she wanted, but it didn’t come. Clara continued chanting after Tommy, taking her first steps as she shouted after her brother.

Polly glanced up from the paper at Ada’s excited squeal.

“I told you she’d walk when ready,” she offered, setting the paper aside and standing up.

Clara tumbled at the threshold to the shop, falling back on her bottom. Ada stepped forward to help her sister only to be stopped by Polly’s hand on her wrist.

Clara’s face scrunched up as she tugged on the thick curtains using them to stand up and gripping them until she was safely over the threshold.

Clara’s shouting for Tommy grew louder as she stepped into the shop, her little voice trying to overcome the volume of the scattered conversations taking place. Despite not clearly seeing Tommy, she took no deviations in her route as she headed towards Arthur’s office, the only place she’d ever come in the shop, always carried there on someone’s hip to visit the oldest Shelby brother.

Tommy caught sight of her steps only because a lull in the noise of the shop caused him to back out of Arthur’s doorway and look around, his sister’s shout perfectly timed to the sudden silence of the room.

He’d come home annoyed about some decision made about the horses, about to tell Arthur off, but he felt that anger leave him as he registered what was happening, the baby toddling towards him, her fair curls bouncing with each determined step. There was something new in her little gap-toothed smile, something in her serious uttering of the name she’d bestowed upon him months ago, the sound interspersed with her self-satisfied giggles, and it all made Tommy forget what he’d come in for in the first place because it was the most animated he’d seen the baby in months, the closest to happy he’d felt in months.

Arthur, Ada, and Polly were all watching by now, too, an almost foreign feeling which felt decidedly close to bliss swelling in them as Clara reached Tommy’s side. The baby gripped the fabric of her brother’s trousers in her small hands, tugging as she looked up to him.

“Up, Ta, up!”

Tommy leaned down to pull the girl into his arms, kissing her head. “Hello there, Clara girl.”

“Of course her first steps would be following after you,” Ada said, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against one of the tables.

“Oh, don’t be jealous, Ada,” Arthur said, rubbing his finger along the baby’s cheek. “I had your first steps. It’s only fair Tommy gets Clara’s.”

Clara put her palm to Tommy’s cheek, turning him towards her when his eyes moved to follow the conversation of their siblings.

“No, TaTa, no,” she said, her little voice sharp. “No. No. No.”

She grasped Tommy’s hand and swatted it. “No, Ta!”

Ada snorted, giggles escaping her lips as she watched the baby, her brow still furrowed despite appearing to be finished with her chastising.

“You’re in fucking trouble now, Tommy,” Arthur said, chuckling.

The handful of times the twins had picked up something they weren’t supposed to, done some little bit wrong, or put themselves in some unsafe predicament, they’d gotten a little warning tap on the hand.

“What’s that for, my girl?” Tommy asked, trying to keep a straight face.

“You’ve been bad, Thomas, ignored her when you came through just now,” Polly answered. “And Arthur, find better words, please. I don’t want the baby repeating that one.”

Tommy shifted the toddler in his arms. “Is that it, my girl? Ta didn’t say hello so you decided to walk in here to let me have it?” He kissed her head. “I’m very sorry, sweet girl. I should’ve said hello.”

Clara was already cuddling into his chest, giving a hug, her little hands gripping his shirt and Tommy waited, resting his chin on her head and letting her cuddle a bit before placing her on the floor beside him.

“Alright, you go off to Ada now or she’ll pout the rest of the evening,” Tommy encouraged, wishing he hadn’t yet started the conversation with Arthur. He’d much rather pass the hour before supper with Clara, but he had little choice in it now.

“C’mon. Show us those big girl steps and I’ll see you for supper.”

Clara took two steps towards her sister’s outstretched hands, turning back when Tommy stepped into Arthur’s office.

“Ta!” she said, holding a hand out to him.

Tommy took a deep breath, unable to hide his smile as he looked down at her.

“TATA!” she yelled, walking back to him.

“Give me a minute, Arthur,” Tommy said, taking one of Clara’s hands, stooping a bit to one side as she led him from the shop and back to the sitting room with Ada and Polly. Tommy settled her on the floor and played with his sisters for a few moments before standing up.

“I’ll be back,” he promised. “You stay with Ada.”

Tommy was grateful for Ada’s distraction, grateful that they didn’t have to suffer a tantrum because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to not give in to her on it.

Tommy and Arthur were just settling in to talk when there was a banging at the office door, a firm repetition of knocks.

“Christ, can’t even have a fucking conversation in this place. Get that, Tommy, won’t you?”

Tommy stood up and pulled his brother’s door open, glancing down at the threshold to see their visitor.

“We have a walk-in appointment, Arthur.”

“A what?” Arthur asked, unable to see a thing beyond his desk.

“A walk-in. Our Clara’s here demanding an audience.” Tommy lifted the girl into his arms.

“Well, best let her in, then,” Arthur answered. “No hope in her staying where’s she’s told now. We really are fucked.”

“Fuck!” Clara said, the same self-satisfied grin on her face as when she’d walked towards Tommy, her giggles filling the room as Tommy and Arthur both started laughing.

“I won’t tell Aunt Polly if you don’t,” Arthur said.

“I don’t think it’s me you have to bargain with to keep the secret, Arthur,” Tommy answered as he settled the giggling girl on his lap.

“Fuck,” Arthur said again, covering his mouth as the three siblings dissolved into laughter once again, Tommy and Arthur finding themselves entirely incapable of returning to their previous discussion with the little girl shouting out her new favorite word every time their laughter subsided.

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Little Lady Blinder Masterlist.

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🏷: @midnight-dreams-23 @cecii22me @pollyrepents @mo-onstarrs

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #shelby!sister #shelby sister #tommy shelby #arthur shelby #ada shelby #polly gray #clara shelby #little lady blinder

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a-libra-writes · 4 years

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Being the Camp Doctor for the RDR2 Gang

added two characters no one asked for you cant stop me. still tryna get the hang of these guys!

In this imagine, you’ll be fixin up: Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch van Der Linde, Hosea Matthews, Sadie Adler, Micah Bell, Charles Smith, Bill Williamson, Javier Escuella, Sean MacGuire, Lenny Summers, Kieran Duffy, Tilly Jackson, Mary-Beth Gaskill, Karen Jones, Flaco Hernandez, Mr. Horley

ARTHUR MORGAN

Arthur is grateful and appreciative of you, really! He just isn’t always comfortable going to you for help. He figures he shouldn’t bother you and he should fix his own mess, but all it takes is a stern look for him to sigh and agree to let you have a look. He gets hot under the collar when you lean in so close and touch him so kindly, so he’d really be itching for some small talk on your part. He feels like whenever he starts it, he says weird things, and his train of thought starts leaving the station when he catches a whiff of your perfume.

The whole experience gives him a mess of emotions, especially if you look after him while he’s sick (he ain’t the best patient) but Arthur can’t imagine going to anyone else when he’s hurt. He just likes your gentle touch too much. To repay you in his own way, he’ll bring any medicines and herbs he finds. Heck, you could give him a grocery list of things you need and he’ll come right back with all of it.

JOHN MARSTON

John can’t go a week without hurting himself in some way, but he’s the type to get up, wipe the blood off and ignore it. Or just forget about it - so many times you’ve scolded him for coming to you only when an infection is setting in. It became a joke with the gang that John would mysteriously go missing anytime you went looking for him. You’d have to sneak up on him and pounce, sweetly asking why he’s never mentioned the fingers he broke a week ago. At least when he’s sick, he can’t go anywhere, so he has no choice but to sit and let you check up on him. The attention embarrasses him to no end so thank god for the excuse that the fever is making him red.

However, things were a little different after the wolf attack. You stitched him up neatly, and he was so tired, he let you fuss. You did him a serious favor, he thought, and he felt like he sorta owed you. John wasn’t sure what he’d do to make it up to you, but he could at least sit through your check-ups in the coming weeks, even if they got him feeling all sorts of things.

DUTCH VAN DER LINDE

He doesn't kid himself about what a valuable asset you are to the gang. He’s damn lucky he found you, and luckier that you agreed to work with him. Dutch is loud about telling people to go see you and ensures the medicine cart has what it needs, or everyone is in trouble. He likes to flatter you, both about how appreciated you are and how excellent your skills are. Both points are true, but he mostly does it because you’re cute and he wants to be on your good side. Even if you’re a capable shooter, he’d rather you stay in camp where you’re safe and not in the middle of danger. He’s very stubborn about this.

Dutch rarely gets himself hurt or sick, but he’ll still see you so he has a chance to be fussed over. Obviously, he won’t do it in front of everyone - he’d rather you treat any wounds he gets in his tent. He’s just needy like that and he enjoys watching your nimble hands mix this or stitch that. He might hang around the medicine cart while you treat others to watch you work … and discourage anyone else from flirting.

HOSEA MATTHEWS

Like Dutch, Hosea appreciates you and knows you’re an important part of the gang. He’ll be the one nagging others to see you when they’re hurt and sick and telling them to be still and let you work. You’ve helped him many a time as well, except not just with injuries. When he began to develop his cough, you noticed right away and asked him to try all sorts of comforting teas you put together. He told you not to fuss over him, but he couldn’t refuse something you worked so hard on … and they’re delicious. He has no idea how you made leaf water so appealing.

On a side-note, Hosea likes watching you read your medical books because you have such an interesting expression when you study them. You’ll write notes in the margins and there’s probably a dozen bookmarks in it, it makes him proud in a strange way, like you’re working this hard to help others. He likes to sit next to you and see which chapter you’re working on this time.

SADIE ADLER

You were the one who helped her after she was brought to Colter, and she was in a daze through most of it. Once the group was off the mountain, she stayed close to your medicine wagon, appreciating your calm presence. Sadie finally thanked you then, since you seemed different than the others. She didn’t have much interest in medicine, but helping you was better than dealing with Pearson. Crushing herbs and cutting bandages helped keep her mind off things, and gradually you two began to talk and get to know each other better.

Later when she joined in on the gang’s jobs, she was often visiting you, only half-listening to your warnings to be more careful. Since she helped make your medicines, she knows what ingredients you need, so to make up for her recklessness she’ll often bring you supplies. When you fix her up, she takes good care of the wound so you don’t have to fuss with it later.

MICAH BELL

Even though Micah knew how skilled you were, he never visited you. He’s not the type to seek help even if his insides are melting. He claims he never gets sick and he wouldn’t be so stupid as to get himself shot up - though not two weeks later, you spent an hour digging a bullet out of him. He drank through most of it to avoid showing how painful it was, but your stitches were quick and neat, and they didn’t bother him much. You kept checking up on him too, and you were glad he was taking care of the stitches. Micah wasn’t doing anything, really, he just knew it was stupid to mess with them (your compliment was nice, though).

When you removed them, you were happy that everything healed so well. You kept touching his arm and moving it, he finally had to pull it away because the realization that he hadn’t made anyone that pleased in a while was uncomfortable. After that, seeing you so close to the other men as you helped them tended to get him antsy. He still won’t go to you of his own violation when he’s hurt or sick; he hopes you’ll notice and go to him with that worried look on your face.

CHARLES SMITH

For many years he’s had to take care of himself, no matter if he was hurt or sick. He does … a decent job, but not great, he’ll admit. So when he joined the gang, he was grateful there was someone like you around. Charles appreciates your neat stitches and how careful and considerate you are. When he came down with a small cold, you were right there with some medicine you made, even if he was still new. That sort of consideration just really gives him a pleasant, happy feeling, so he’s more than glad to help you out. Just give him a list of herbs you need, he insists on it. He’ll get some sinew and bone for you to make needles and thread out of, too.

Charles likes to hang out when you’re making your own medicines and ointments. He recalls his mother doing something similar, so it’s very interesting to him. If you wouldn’t mind, he’d like to know how you do it, and how you know what to use. Also, when one of your patients is being difficult, he’s the one to walk over and tell them to behave.

BILL WILLIAMSON

He wants to be the “tough guy” and brush off any injury, even if it really hurts, and he doesn’t want to admit when he’s feeling like death ... But the thing is, you’re nice. Sweet, even, and you have pretty hands and you’re so caring. You worry about him, so he feels rotten for not taking care of himself and going to see you. You check up on him too, make sure everything is healing alright, and it always gets him red-faced and nervous. There’s definitely been a few awkward but well-intended compliments.

Probably because of his crush, he’s a very good patient when he’s sick. He hates feeling that awful so he’ll do whatever you say to get better. Everyone’s very amused at how obedient Bill has suddenly become, since before you showed up he’d just be a pain in the ass. Bill has no idea how to repay you, so he’ll bring you things that he thinks are useful, like some questionable bottles he thought were legitimate medicine.

JAVIER ESCUELLA

Javier likes to stop by your cart for silly things like a “broken heart”, just so he can chat with you and hang around. He appreciates your skills and compassion; he’s sure most of these guys would’ve bled out if you weren’t there, and he tells you so. While Javier played the tough guy in his adulthood and pretended he was fine, sitting with you brings back memories of when he was a kid and getting patched up by his ma. Watching your fingers move so expertly and carefully impresses him, and your compassion at how he’s feeling gets him all fluttery.

He loves that sort of nurturing nature, so he’s an extra obedient patient for you and does his best to look after the injuries you fixed up. And while Javier normally hates people seeing him when he’s snotty and sick, he loves how you take care of him. He doesn’t even hide how pleased he is with your bedside manner.

SEAN MACGUIRE

No surprise, Sean acts tough when he gets the stuffing beat out of him, pretending it doesn’t hurt even as he wobbles. He’ll go to your medicine cart because you must want to chat, not because he’s convinced he broke a rib and he has half a mind to ask if they grow back (he often asks you stupid “medical” questions). He’s his usual big-headed flirty self as you treat him, flavored with plenty of jokes and occasional yelps from pain. So many times Sean has had to go back to you because he accidentally opened his stitches or sprained his wrist again. Hey, he gets to see you again, so it’s not that bad.

Actually, you rarely have to check up on Sean because he likes hanging around your cart even when he’s feeling fine and has other things he should be doing. When he’s actually recovering from something, be it wound or sickness, he trails you like a puppy, asking you to take another look just in case. When he’s totally wasted he’ll steal this legit-looking snake oil and very proudly presents it to you before staggering off somewhere.

LENNY SUMMERS

Lenny is reasonable, he sees no shame in visiting you when he’s needing to be patched up or feeling under the weather. He hates feeling sick so he’s on point with taking the medicine you give him. And honestly … being treated by you, especially for colds and stuff, gets him a little case of the feelings. It reminds him of being back home, taking some remedy his mama put together to help a sore throat or bad cough. You often noticed this sentimental look on his face whenever you made him something.

He’s very interested in the whole process, so sometimes he accompanies you as you gather herbs or make medicine and asks you how it works. Eventually Lenny starts helping you out and being something of an assistant, although patching up bullet wounds and stitching skin makes him a bit queasy. He thinks your medical books are beyond cool and likes to read them, even if the information can be a bit dense. When he’s out he likes to search for similar books and hopes they’re useful to you.

KIERAN DUFFY

You were the one who treated the wounds he received when he was captured - the gang was willing to just leave them be, but Kieran overheard you arguing that you weren’t about to leave a man bleeding all over the place. You sounded tough and he flinched when you showed up with the needle, but once you started patching him up he was in awe of how gentle and careful you were. You kept asking if it hurt, and for the next few days you’d come by with medicine to make sure everything was healing alright. Kieran had never had such kind attention like that since… Well, he couldn’t remember.

Afterward he knew he had to thank you somehow. His theoretical leash was still short, but he could look after the horses that pulled your cart. You realized how knowledgeable he was, so while you taught him about medicine for people, he’d teach you things about helping your horses. It goes without saying he grins like a dork whenever you thank him for it.

TILLY JACKSON

She’s not the sort to be squeamish around blood, but that doesn’t mean she wants to be assigned to stitching up the boys when they get themselves in foolish situations. The good side is Tilly enjoys spending time with you, since you both are usually too busy with different things to chat. So when it’s her turn to be your assistant, she takes full advantage, catching you up with what’s been going on. If you’re more introverted she has all sorts of fun gossip, if you’re more outgoing she’ll encourage you to go on jobs with her and the girls, or just have fun with them. She’s also usually the one washing the blood out of your bandages before you disinfect them, so you have her to thank for that.

Tilly likes helping you gather ingredients to make medicine. Something about it just tickles her, like you know some secret that no one else does. She’s the biggest fan of your teas because nothing else helps her get through a headache, and if that wasn’t already a reason to like you, you’re so nice when she’s sick. She’s never had anyone be so attentive and kind to her when she’s ill, and it gets her a little embarrassed at how happy it makes her.

MARY-BETH GASKILL

Oof, she really doesn’t like helping you clean up blood and guts, or lord forbid digging out bullets (once was enough!). So instead, she’ll steal you some good quality medicines and supplies she spotted, or she takes over your chores so you can rest after a night of patching wounds. A big reason she’s so grateful is because at the orphanage, no one gave a damn if she was puking her guts or gushing blood. The first time she was having horrible cramps she tried to hide it, but you were so sweet and empathetic. You gave her some strange tea, bundled her up with a blanket and set warm bricks wrapped in cloth to soothe the pain. She’d never been so tended to in her life, it made her speechless.

After that Mary-Beth was in your corner. She’ll actually raise her voice and scold anyone who's being a difficult patient! And if someone is feeling even a little off, she’ll push them toward you. Karen teases her for having a crush, but that’s not it at all! She’s just grateful! Of course, this has all inspired her to start writing a romance about a soldier and a nurse he meets, so now you’ll catch her staring and furiously scribbling notes.

KAREN JONES

Karen is a regular visitor because she ain’t about to deal with cramps or a cold if she can help it. She dislikes being slowed down because of her own body, and you’ve also assisted with some morning-after medicine and never told the camp or judged her for it. She respects you, but still likes to tease you about your “bookish” tendencies. She insists you need to stop fussing over everyone and do something for yourself. “Let them boys fend for themselves! Give ‘em a bottle of whiskey an’ a needle, they’ll figure it out.”

Karen doesn’t have patience or steady hands, so she doesn’t help directly with surgery, but she’ll clean up the mess afterward. A little-known fact is she’s the one who's responsible for the tidy way your medicine cart is laid out. It’s like organizing bottles of perfume and make-up, she says, so you can find things much easier now. She knows your teas and medicines work well, but she hates the taste, so she’ll add a shot of whiskey or a dollop of honey to help it go down.

FLACO HERNANDEZ

He’s always looked after himself, as his many scars can attest. He can get the job done, more or less, and he’s dug out a few bullets from himself and others. That’s less of a problem nowadays, considering his remote location, and few things get past his thick coat. Still, Flaco admires your skills. He hasn’t gotten to see you in action too much, but you’ve talked about people you’ve helped and the gang you tend to. He likes this caring, cautious nature of your’s.

You couldn’t believe he didn’t even have bandages in his little cabin, so you put together a little box filled with bandages, ointments and medicines you’ve made yourself. Flaco tries to put on his usual gruff front, telling you not to bother with things like that, but he’s so touched. It takes him way back, reminding him of his mother and grandmother, both respected curanderas. He hasn’t thought of that in a long time. Anytime you brew something for him to help with aches or sleeping, he’ll drink it with a raspy laugh.

MR. HORLEY

Well it's a good thing you have this skill, he thinks, because the lord knows you and your gang get into all sorts of trouble. Anytime Mr. Horley sees neat little stitches on you or your friends, he figures it's your work, and they heal well afterward. He never gets himself hurt, so he hasn't had a chance to see you work, but you'll still offer him some tea leaves you grew. At first he took it to be polite, but he and Mrs. LeClerk actually enjoyed it a lot. Jessica sends him to get more tea and medicine from you, half because she prefers your recipes, half because she wants you both to chat more.

At some point Mrs. LeClerk had need of your skills, so he employed you to discreetly patch up some of her associates. That’s when he got to see you work, and he gave you several genuine compliments you didn’t expect. They were in his usual serious voice, but he meant it. He keeps his eyes and ears out for work you can do, just in case you drop by that day.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #john marston x reader #dutch van der linde x reader #hosea matthews x reader #sadie adler x reader #micah bell x reader #charles smith x reader #bill williamson x reader #javier escuella x reader #sean macguire x reader #lenny summers x reader #kieran duffy x reader #tilly jackson x reader #mary-beth gaskill x reader #karen jones x reader #flaco hernandez x reader #mr horley x reader

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selfwriting-sugarquills · 4 years

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70 Fred Weasley headcanons in celebration of 700 followers:

(plus an extra one, for the heck of it lmao)

You guys, thank you so much for 700 followers! I appreciate every single one of you and writing for the twins has been such a blast so far, much to the thanks of all of you <3

Find the 70 George Headcanons: Here

Fred has always been really good at sleight of hand stuff, as a kid, he could do card tricks with ease, steal baked goods from his mother’s kitchen and later on since his allowance wasn’t exactly anything to brag about, he’d steal sweets from honeydukes' on Hogsmeade trips, with the help of George, he’s not proud of it but in his defence, he was a stupid teenage boy at the time.

Fred is incredibly competitive and will hold onto anything you challenge him to for way longer than you might think. He’s definitely the type to “race you” anytime you’re headed to herbology, care against magical creatures or Hogsmeade together.

As the man himself said in the deathly hallows, Fred doesn’t like the idea of a big grandiose wedding ceremony, he’d prefer something more low-key and simple, where the focus is more on having fun and celebrating instead of neat seating plans and meticulously chosen decorations. Some flowers and booze will do, he’ll provide the fireworks - In essence, he only needs his S/O and the rest he couldn’t care less about.

George may be better at cooking, but Fred makes a damn good pancake and he will forever pride himself on that.

Fred is the more jealous, overprotective twin. He’s aware of this and tries his best not to let it go to his head but he can’t help it.

Fred snores, I’m pretty sure it’s canon that both twins snore, but Fred is louder and, as mentioned in my last headcanon post, a very heavy sleeper meaning it’s more difficult to get him to wake up so he can stop, your best shot is trying (and probably failing) to turn him over.

Fred is also a very restless sleeper, he’ll toss and turn, and occasionally dream about quidditch. I’m saying you might want to be aware that he might confuse you for a bludger in his sleep, don’t worry though, he’ll always apologise profusely and make it up to you with a lot of kisses (and maybe a bit more than that, if you’re keen ;))

Fred has an extensive caffeine addiction, which is unfortunate cause he’s quite hyper already but he can’t function properly until he gets his coffee in the morning, and then again in between lessons/at lunch and then again late in the afternoon. Sometimes, if he needed to write an essay that was due, he’d drink coffee at like nine pm. He knows he won’t be able to sleep because of it, please, Y/n, he’s accepted his fate.

I personally always imagined the twins as having ADHD, idk why it just fits their characters. Fred is for sure the more outwardly fidgety and intrusive, this gets less and less with age, as it does for a lot of ADHD people, his inability to focus remains the same though.

Fred loves being outside, he’s the first of the Weasley siblings to suggest a game of quidditch or just going outside for walks, hide and seek in the woods near their house. He absolutely loves taking his dates on walks in parks or at the beach and when he has kids he plays with them in their yard, building snowmen etc.

Fred probably suggests at some point that the whole family should go camping, and he’s actually really fun to camp with. He’ll tell the best scary stories by the campfire.

In regards to children, Fred wants a lot of kids. Like at least three but would be willing to have more if his s/o wants to. He just really likes the dynamic of a large family since that’s what he’s used to.

Fred’s favourite flavour of sweets is anything sour, the sourer the better, because of this he can handle it really well and he loves handing people some of his ridiculously sour candy and watching them squirm.

He also really likes spicy food, he’s a bit of a daredevil so don’t challenge him to eat anything because he will eat a whole chilli and nearly die.

You know he’d be really casual about it too, lol, like sweating and crying but just leaning on the counter like “*pant* what? hot? no not at all *deeeeep breath* I can ha-aw-rdly taste it!”

One thing about Fred is that he’s oddly squeamish, like seeing his brother’s ear blown off isn’t so bad (if you don’t take into account the emotional trauma that is), but a needle for a blood sample or a vaccine? oooh, he’s gonna need a big juice box and a cookie and his s/o’s hand to hold if he’s gonna make it through. He also has a thing about leeches. One time at Hogwarts they were mentioned in a lesson and he thought he was going to faint the entire time.

Fred’s broken five bones over the years, four are from quidditch: his left arm and two ribs, and then the other arm from trying to do an elaborate stunt on the stairs in the burrow and falling down two flights.

Fred loves to sing karaoke (because I cannot get that damn clip of James singing karaoke out of my head) though he particularly enjoys doing a very poor job on purpose.

Fred is such a good liar that on several occasions he’s given presentations in school and gotten good marks for them despite having bullshat his way through the entire thing.

Like seriously, he’s that guy in the group project who only looks at the slides like five minutes before the presentation and then just turns on a full charming newscaster voice on the professor to the point of them being genuinely convinced (albeit a little confused) that what Fred’s saying is true.

This is also why Fred loves playing card games like poker: he’s really good at bluffing.

Speaking of poker-face, he’s really quite good at teasing in public (if you’re into that sort of thing *wink*) because no matter the dirty deeds he might get up to under a table, his face remains as regular as always (safe for a little smirk to his lover every now and then)

Fred always wanted to learn an instrument, he thought it’d make him cooler when he was a teenager, as an adult, he just really wants to recreate that clip of the trombone-playing dad with the sunglasses, or maybe serenade some cows with jazz or something.

Fred was never a big fan of the uniform thing, so he always tried to make it his own, whether that be tying the tie differently, or having his sleeves rolled up; it’s not much but you gotta take what you can get when you’re literally dressed the same as everyone else.

Fred might make fun of his dad’s interest in muggle things but secretly he loves it too. He has spent a lot of hours in the shed with Arthur, assuring everyone that it was just to have some quality time with his dad but he would still pay close attention when Arthur explained things to him.

Fred had a whole business of selling candy from Honeydukes’ and joke products from Zonko’s to second and first years before he and George started dabbling with their own products, he could get you a butterbeer too but it’ll cost you an extra three galleons.

Fred really likes glitter, George has a thing for lace, anything that glitters on his s/o makes Fred weak. If you want to get your way just put on some glittery eyeshadow or lipgloss and watch him spin.

Since he loves things that glitter and gleam he loves buying his s/o jewellery, he loves seeing them wearing them as little tokens of their relationship.

Did someone say slight possession kink? oops not me

Fred is incredible with numbers, this is pretty much canon and has been explored but I’m just amazed at this boy’s wit AND intellect. I have a slight headcanon that if he ever goes on a proper first date with someone where a bill is involved, he impresses his date by calculating the tip after just a glance.

Even if Fred has a longstanding reputation of not caring about school, when he has kids he does want to help them with any coursework over the summer and Christmas breaks, he’ll even study up on his old books just to be able to help out in any classes he didn’t take/didn’t pay attention in.

Fred would, in general, be an amazing father. He’s goofy and playful most of the time, though he’s serious and incredibly caring whenever his kids are in a bad mood or have problems. He knows that he’s not the most outwardly emotional of the twins but he makes sure his kids know they can always talk to him about anything.

Fred is incredibly messy. His room is usually a cry for help and he only cleans it when it gets to the point where it distracts him from focusing on work.

No worries though, his S/O doesn’t have to do all the housework for him, he’ll do it. He just needs to be reminded that he needs to every once in a while.

Fred has a really bad temper, he doesn’t know where he gets it from but he tends to get angry easier than George, though Fred is better at letting it out so it doesn’t continue to bother him.

His bad temper does mean that he used to brawl more with siblings as a kid, and it wasn’t unusual to see him with scrapes and bruises as a kid, much to Molly’s dismay. Fred didn’t mind though, he thought it made him look tough.

Fred is more likely to get caught sneaking around because of his brash nature, he tends to forget just how quiet you have to be to avoid Mrs Norris in the corridors.

Fred is certainly not an early bird but his favourite time of day is, in fact, the morning when the sun’s coming up. He only knows this because of Wood’s ridiculously early quidditch practices but there’s something about the way the world looks when it’s bathed in soft golden light that just hits different to Fred.

Fred is a great team player, as much as he seems like he’s more selfish than George, if it’s regarding a team activity (like quidditch or a battle of sorts) he’ll completely lose all focus on himself and only try to ensure other’s safety and victory. This is also why he plays as a beater, he’s not afraid of getting hit at all when he’s focused on getting the bludgers away from his teammates.

So if his s/o ever needs it, he’ll be there to help with anything: Needs to take a day off from work to take care of his sick s/o? no problem. Needs to stay up with his small child because his s/o is exhausted and needs rest? On it. Something as small as carrying groceries or books, making a cup of tea when the other is busy or doing the dishes is all on the list of things that Fred will happily do for his s/o, and often without having to be asked, he’ll just do it.

Fred’s boggart is seeing his family members and/or his s/o hurt beyond what he can save. Essentially his worst fear is being helpless when he needs it most.

One of those times was when George lost his ear. The first night when George was lying practically unconscious on the couch with blood everywhere was the worst night of Fred’s life, he truly felt so anxious and helpless and angry that he vomited and ended up passing out next to the couch after staying up till sunrise watching his brother like a hawk.

He didn’t just sleepwalk when he was younger, he also often experienced nightmares, it’s only George, Molly and Arthur who remembers anything about this.

They got less and less the older he got and he assumed that he’d never be bothered by them again until after the second wizarding war and the battle of Hogwarts.

I don’t like to headcanon that he dies cause he didn’t and that’s final lol. I do, however, headcanon that Fred still gets hurt, since everyone in the explosion beside him seemed to sustain minor injuries, I just think that to even out with George losing his ear, he hurts his leg and needs a lot of retraining/a walking stick. I think that’d be a more fair/unfair ending for Fred who’s always full of energy having to have to adjust to living slowly for a little while (not permanently, I couldn’t do that to my boy).

The boy has anxiety sometimes, ok. (just let me project for a second)

He didn’t know how much tension he usually holds in his body until he drank alcohol for the first time and felt his entire body loosen up and was like “huh this is new.”

He doesn’t use alcohol to deal with it though, he prefers just talking to George about whenever he feels is stressing him out and that helps. A massage from his s/o to loosen him up doesn’t hurt either.

Fred prefers to talk to his dad about his problems more than he prefers to talk to Molly, generally.

His favourite body parts on his s/o: Shoulders, hips, hands.

He loves to kiss, just in general, but he also loves kissing his s/o’s nose, forehead, neck, shoulder, etc. as little gestures of affection.

He def. has a bit of a size kink, he loves being taller than his s/o.

If Fred could have any pet he wanted, he’d probably want a dog, the bigger the better. He doesn’t think he has the time for a pet though.

It was his idea to start breeding pygmy puffs, it’s the closest he’ll get to having a pet.

I don’t know why but I feel like when Fred and his s/o are expecting and his s/o goes into labour he just panics. loses it, drops the binkie as we say in Denmark: Freaks the fuck out, if you will. He’s definitely the pacing and wringing his hands together type, though he probably tries his best to keep himself composed and chill during the whole thing whilst simultaneously hyperventilating.

Fred doesn’t cry often but he sure as hell wept with pride when he held all his kids for the first time.

Despite the notion that the twins often slip in a joke version of a sweet treat or something similar amongst the snacks at parties, Fred is strongly against tampering with drinks. He knows the connotations it holds and he doesn’t want anyone to be afraid they’d put something in it. If he wants you to test out their truth serum or a love potion, he’ll just ask you flat out and if you don’t want to, he’s not going to continue asking.

Most of the detentions Fred has gotten from Snape come from times he’s spoken back to him when Snape’s been giving another student a rough time. He doesn’t regret it one bit.

If you ask Fred what his proudest accomplishment is, he’ll probably say that it’s having had enough restraint to not punch Umbridge in the face every time he saw her.

On the note of Umbridge. It wasn’t her detentions with him that got his blood boiling, it was when she punished little kids (a la Nigel) for doing practically nothing, he understands that to an extent and by comparison, setting off a bunch of fireworks inside a building would harbour a harsher punishment, but making twelve-year-olds bleed for running in the halls or playing music or just doing things that twelve-year-olds will inevitably do, is something Fred doesn’t understand. That year pretty much any kid younger than him, or anyone who was too afraid to stand up for themselves, became Fred and George’s little siblings, and they’re very protective older brothers. Umbridge can vouch for that.

He struggles with a lot of insecurity in his relationships, he always puts on a front of being extra funny and outgoing when he’s in a new relationship because he’s secretly afraid that the way he is isn’t good enough and that eventually, his s/o will see through him and leave because they don’t like the softer, more serious side of him.

Fred is the godfather of all of George’s kids but is also the godparent of Hugo, Lily and Lucy.

Fred loves business meetings, he sees them as a good challenge to practice his smooth talk.

Fred spent his first salary from the shop on the most expensive bottle of champagne he could find and a new suit.

Fred tried to get into whiskey, feeling like it’d make him a cool business owner type of man, so, with his second salary, he went out and bought a fancy-schmancy bottle of whiskey and the whole getup with a bottle and some cool glasses, and then invited Lee over to try it with him and George.

They did not like it. Fred thought it tasted like what he imagined gasoline tastes like so they mostly used it as decorations, not having the heart to mix it with something.

Fred doesn’t necessarily like PDA, it depends on what you mean. He likes being secretive. Pulling his s/o into an empty classroom, nook, hallway, secret pathway etc where anyone could wander in at any time and snogging her senseless is one of his favourite things to do.

Fred knows how good he looks in his quidditch uniform and will absolutely use it against his s/o. (they’re gonna get spicy from here on so read with caution if you're in public)

Fred prefers giving more than receiving oral.

He has a lot of energy, did you not think that would rub off (no pun intended) on his sex drive? He can go pretty much any time and place, and typically last at least two rounds.

Also, his favourite position is having you on top. Okay, I'm gonna stop now.

#selfwriting-sugarquills 700 follower celebration #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley headcanons #fred weasley fanfiction #weasley twins #weasley twins headcanons #hp headcanon #harry potter headcanon

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canyouhearthelight · 3 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 131

Two things about this chapter:

One: I am a sucker for these domestic chapters. I love showing people being people, and weaving world-building and plot development into those scenes.

Two: I am currently doing better from a work-exhaustion perspective, thank you everyone who was concerned! I actually took the day off the day before I wrote this and just slept as much as I could that day, because the last day I worked, I was literally swaying on my feet if I stood still.

As always, thanks to @the-raven-fae, @baelpenrose, @anotherusrname, and @charlylimph-blog for keeping me going, along with every. Single. Person. Who has found this story somehow and just binged it as fast as you could. I love when my inbox gets detonated by someone new, please never stop!

Glimmering Feathers Podcast is currently doing The Miys from the very beginning! Please listen and support!

“Have the shelter locations for non-combatants been shortlisted?” I panted as Tyche and I sat on the floor of the gym after an intense cardio and sparring session.

She shook her head as she took a gulp of water. “Not that I know of, but Xio hasn’t really told me anything yet.”

“You would think we would be told pretty quick,” I complained. “After all, we’re supposed to be putting together the rosters of who goes where.”

“We put together the lists of combatants and non-combatants.” She stood and held out a hand to help pull me off the ground. “Our part is done for right now, and we’re pretty far ahead of schedule, honestly.”

“This isn’t exactly the kind of thing we want to leave to the last minute.”

Tyche groaned. “Right about now, I wish you were planning the Festival still. You get crabby when you’re stressed and don’t have anything to work on.”

I scowled and made pincer-like gestures with my hands. She just laughed and shook her head before I asked, “Are you and Antoine coming over for dinner tonight?”

“Only if you let me shower first. We both stink.”

There was no way I could argue with that, especially as I went to put my glasses on and caught a whiff of myself. “Showers, then dinner at twenty-oneish?” As we exited the gym, I paused to let my eyes adjust to the far-dimmer lighting. Chills ran down my back every time I recognized the similarity to the nightmares Else had given me while trying to communicate, and I always had to spend a few minutes forcing myself not to step over debris that wasn’t actually there.

“Can we do vegetarian tonight?”

“You have to talk Conor into it.”

A couple hours later, we were standing in my kitchen area. Tyche was aggressively mashing chickpeas while staring down a nearly-flinching Conor.

I leaned over from where I was mincing herbs. “That isn’t what I meant and you know it,” I whispered.

“Don’t worry. I’m making him lamb, he just doesn’t know it,” she whispered back from the corner of her mouth.

To avoid smiling and giving it away, I called out instead. “Hey, Antoine, can you come start the tzatziki? You’re better at it than I am.”

“If you would give in to the existence of salt, Sophia, you would be a much happier woman,” he teased with a serious face.

“I use salt!” I objected.

“At the end,” my sister pointed out. “He salts the cucumbers before mixing everything together.” She glanced back at Conor before arching an eyebrow at him.

Distraction time. “Love, how are the plans for the housing fabrications coming?”

“Your mate Arthur apparently convinced Huynh - somehow, it’s not like they talk - that we don’t need fortifications,” he groaned. “I keep trying to explain that we aren’t putting up fortifications, it’s for agriculture.”

“Wait, what? What does that have to do with housing…?”

He tilted his head side to side as he considered. I could almost see him rewinding. “We have several different blueprints drafted for housing, dependent on what we learn when we drop into ‘real space’. Lots of them include plans for those espell-things to grow on the side, but Huynh is pushing back. It’s holding up the approvals.”

“What does Charly think?”

“Anything that helps us grow more plants with less impact on the environment is a win for her, so I’m trying to take the long view. He can decide whatever he wants now, but she’ll go with the plants every time.”

Antoine appeared next to me, wiping his hands. “How would your plan work if there is a cavern system, as suspected, rather than a surface settlement?”

He conceded the point. “Still working on a sustainable grow-light system for that one. But if it works, we would have year-round crops, so it would solve for the problem of storage in the winter.”

The door to our quarters opened just then, and a very tired-looking Maverick paused to take off his boots. “What would solve for the winter storage issue?” he asked.

“Sustainable grow-lights,” Tyche tossed over my shoulder from where she was hiding the lamb.

He made it as far as the table before dropping into a chair and leaning heavily on Conor, who wrinkled his nose. “Mav, you stink.”

“Turns out grav-mechs are greasy, even in space,” he mumbled, nuzzling into the other man’s shoulder instead of taking the hint. “I hate calibrating them.”

“No dirty hands at the table!” I reminded him. He didn’t move his head, just held up two meticulously scrubbed hands. “Fine…” I surrendered.

“Why are we talking about grow-lights?” he asked.

“Huynh is fighting with me ‘bout the housing solutions,” Conor explained, stroking his hair.

“Ah… the plants?”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t you just make the plants where they can grow with less light? I thought you were already working on that.”

“They turned black, tasted horrible, and we ended up with a sentient plague,” I pointed out. “No more dinking around with plant genomes please?”

Tyche turned around, hands on her hips. “We are already trying to manage a food festival and a potential invasion by space-pirates. No more plagues. Knowing her luck - “ she jerked a thumb in my direction “- this one won’t be the apologetic and cute kind.” Apparently the words that just came out of her mouth registered, because she rolled her eyes and threw her hands in the air before turning back to her top-secret dinner plan.

I finally finished turning the pale green paste into patties and shoved them in the oven, removing the griddle that had been warming in there. Hefting it onto the heating elements that served as a stove, I started putting together dough for pitas. “So, grow-lights. What kind of light do we need for them to work?”

“Blue, ideally,” Conor responded without even having to think. “Four-fortyish nanometers. Weirdly red light, six-fiftyish nanometers works, too.”

“So explain the issue, because I feel like I’m missing something. Charly designed lights in both those colors.”

“Wrong wavelengths,” he explained, scratching the back of his neck. “And it’s apparently really hard to finetune the wavelengths of organic lighting. She’s managed to get it right, but only for about twenty four hours before it shifts too far one way or another. We don’t want to depend on completely inorganic light, if Von is as metal-poor as we think it will be.”

“Can’t replace them,” I half-asked. He winked and shot me a finger-gun to confirm my suspicion. “Yeah, that’s a huge problem.”

“The star emits just the right kind of light, barely, so if we stick with surface settlement, we should be okay.”

“And that’s where the storage issue came up,” Maverick mumbled sleepily, bringing us back to the original question he asked.

Conor jostled him gently, and I heard something about a shower to wake up before Maverick padded off in the direction of the bathroom. Right at the same time, Tyche reached around me to flip a pita before blowing her fingers and cursing softly. Apparently, her secret was done, so I handed her the spatula and started rolling out more dough.

By the time Maverick came back with wet hair and a too-big shirt that had to be Conor’s, most of the food was on the table and we were ready to eat. Conor started grumbling about no meat and how could us weirdos eat a meal with no meat when he was interrupted by Tyche clearing her throat. His head snapped up and his jaw dropped.

“You! You are the sneakiest, most beautiful sister in law I could ever ask for,” he extolled dramatically as he saw the platter of lamb skewers in her hands.

She moved the platter out of his prodigious reach as she approached the table. “There’s a catch. You have to at least try the falafel. By itself, no lamb. Then you can have the meat.”

Maverick, more awake now and with half a sandwich already in his mouth nodded. After chewing and swallowing, he nodded again. “It’s really good, I swear.”

I pretended not to notice that he grabbed a skewer off the stack. Then again, Maverick also wasn’t a grown man who still had to be bribed to eat vegetables. Usually, he had to be bribed to eat meat actually.

Conor, on the other hand, took the falafel pita that Tyche made for him and eyed it skeptically. “I feel like I need to point out that this isn’t a sandwich, this is what you put on a sandwich.” His hesitancy lasted about as long as it took for Antoine to stand and pick up the platter before he took a huge bite out of fear that the lamb would be taken away. He chewed frantically until Antoine put the platter back down, before he actually registered the taste.

I wanted to laugh at the confusion that flooded his face as he stared down at the sandwich in his hand. Finally, he swallowed, but the confusion didn’t stop.

“That’s…. Actually not bad. I thought vegetarian food was supposed to be bad?” He flinched when dual glares were thrown his way by me and my sister. “I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant - you know what, I’m going to shut up and eat before you two ladies decide I’m for dinner tomorrow night.”

“Very wise course of action,” Antoine confirmed solemnly as he carefully spooned tzatziki on his own, onion-loaded sandwich.

Still shaking my head, I started making my own food when I realized something. “I thought we made a lot more falafel than this?”

Tyche smirked but didn’t say anything. Neither did Antoine, focused on his own meal. Maverick however, was suspiciously quiet. I glanced over at him, only to see him staring really hard at his plate, which now had three empty skewers on it. As my mind caught up, I actually found the sight kind of adorable.

I must have stared too long though, because Maverick muttered pathetically. “I was hungrier than I thought.”

Kissing the top of his head, I put another pita on his plate. “Baby, we made more than enough. Eat all you want. I just don’t want you to choke, that’s all.”

A long-fingered hand with slightly ginger hair on the back put a skewer on his plate. “Love, we can’t eat all this, you’re fine.”

“I always make enough food for ten people when you two are eating,” Tyche confirmed, not even looking up. “Teenage nephews in the Before. Lots of practice.”

He slowly looked up at us, and realizing that no one was angry, just surprised, he looked less afraid and sat up straight. Conor patted the top of his hand before deploying one of his weaponized, thousand-watt smiles. “C’mon, I’ll show you to make one with the lamb. You’re gonna need a lot of onions for this…”

I groaned, setting off a round of laughter. I wasn’t against onions on a sandwich, but they didn’t have to sleep between two men with onion breath.

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#the miys #found family #food #aliens #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #hfy #haw #apocalypse #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #recovery #science fiction #sci fi #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing #my writing

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tartagilicious · 4 years

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different types of male characters

that we all thirst over regardless

you love at least one character that fits all these categories, don’t lie 😭

1. I would die for you

- 🥺 everyone has a soft spot for him if they don’t at least have a crush on him or an appreciation for him

- think men can be thoughtful or caring or reliable, but not all 3? well think again, because this guy’s all that and more.

- still lowkey a kid at heart, and he loves to joke around or poke fun even if it’s not how he projects himself all the time

- in a relationship he tends to be the protecter, hence the title of this section. will literally do anything to keep the heroine and/or those around him safe.

- is usually working towards some type of big goal. and I just?? he’s the sweetest boy?? ever?? give him a break.

examples: gavin (mlqc), shon (siren’s lament), hideyoshi (ikesen), stefan (tvd)

2. the boss™️

- always seems cold at the start, and is very intimidating. but, later it’s revealed that he’s a huge softie

- trusts the heroine a whole lot even if he won’t normally admit it

- ‘you wanna get to her you gotta get through me first’ kinda guy

- literally is so in love and it’s often funny to see the ways he deals with the changes that come with it

- it’s likely that the heroine is the first person they’ve ever romantically loved.

examples: victor (mlqc), lucifer (obey me!), jumin han (mysmes), kousuke (i love yoo)

3. he’s a joke, ok?

- probably has a tragic past (or at least something that screwed them over for a bit)

- either is really joking, flirty, easygoing or all three

- doesn’t open up to people because he’s afraid to hurt them, or of them leaving (really it’s situational)

- but if he does open up, he’s a completely different person! most likely a bit toned down and more affectionate.

- I always feel bad for these characters. protect that baby boy

examples: arthur (ikevamp), saeyoung (mysmes), oikawa (haikyuu), devil no.4 (devil no.4)

4. dumbass

- not a himbo

- I mean the kind of person who knows that an idea is stupid, but does it anyway because it sounds fun

- looking at him and the way he acts, you’d swear he’s a really simple minded person, but in situations where he needs to be serious…. get scared. he can be very sharp and even dangerous (again, depending on what he’s from)

- not the best at expressing his feelings, but he tries his goddamn best and it’s adorable

examples: natsu (fairy tail), fenrir (ikerev), mammon (obey me), syd (mayday memory)

5. I would slap you if I didn’t love you

- a cocky little shit. it’s his main personality point and he’s probably proud of it. he loves to tease the heroine a whole bunch.

- can probably know all of your secrets just by looking at you

- still, very considerate and even insecure at times

- the sweetest person ever. would do anything for those he cares about even if it doesn’t seem like it

examples: shaw (mlqc), mitsuhide (ikesen), atsumu (haikyuu), damon (tvd)

#types of characters #character types #archetypes #mr love queen’s choice #ikemen sengoku #ikemen revolution #ikemen vampire #haikyuu #fugou keiji balance: unlimited #obey me #mystic messenger #I love yoo #siren’s lament #fairy tail #webtoon #anime #otome #the vampire diaries #tvd

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ladydarklord · 3 years

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The Mighty Boosh on the business of being silly

The Times, November 15 2008

What began as a cult cocktail of daft poems, surreal characters and fantastical storylines has turned into the comedy juggernaut that is the Mighty Boosh. Janice Turner hangs out with creators Noel Fielding, Julian Barratt and the extended Boosh family to discuss the serious business of being silly

In the thin drizzle of a Monday night in Sheffield, a crowd of young women are waiting for the Mighty Boosh or, more precisely, one half of it. Big-boned Yorkshire lasses, jacketless and unshivering despite the autumn nip, they look ready to devour the object of their desire, the fey, androgynous Noel Fielding, if he puts a lamé boot outside the stage door. “Ooh, I do love a man in eyeliner,” sighs Natalie from Rotherham. She’ll be throwing sickies at work to see the Boosh show 13 times on their tour, plus attend the Boosh after-show parties and Boosh book signings. “My life is dead dull without them,” she says.

Nearby, mobiles primed, a pair of sixth-formers trade favourite Boosh lines. “What is your name?” asks Jessica. “I go by many names, sir,” Victoria replies portentously. A prison warden called Davena survives long days with high-security villains intoning, “It’s an outrage!” in the gravelly voice of Boosh character Tony Harrison, a being whose head is a testicle.

Apart from Fielding, what they all love most about the Boosh is that half their mates don’t get it. They see a bloke in a gorilla suit, a shaman called Naboo, silly rhymes about soup, stories involving shipwrecked men seducing coconuts “and they’re like, ‘This is bloody rubbish,’” says Jessica. “So you feel special because you do get it. You’re part of a club.”

Except the Mighty Boosh club is now more like a movement. What began as an Edinburgh fringe show starring Fielding and his partner Julian Barratt and later became an obscure BBC3 series has grown into a box-set flogging, mega-merchandising, 80-date touring Boosh inc. There was a Boosh festival last summer, now talk of a Boosh movie and Boosh in America. An impasse seems to have been reached: either the Boosh will expand globally or, like other mass comedy cults before it – Vic and Bob, Newman and Baddiel – slowly begin to deflate.

But for the moment, the fans still wait in the rain for heroes who’ve already left the building. I find the Boosh gang gathered in their hotel bar, high on post-gig adrenalin. Barratt, blokishly handsome with his ring-master moustache, if a tad paunchy these days, blends in with the crew. But Fielding is never truly “off”. All day he has been channelling A Clockwork Orange in thick black eyeliner (now smudged into panda rings) and a bowler hat, which he wears with polka-dot leggings, gold boots and a long, neon-green fur-collared PVC trenchcoat. He has, as those women outside put it, “something about him”: a carefully-wrought rock-god danger mixed with an amiable sweetness. Sexy yet approachable. Which is why, perched on a barstool, is a great slab of security called Danny.

“He stops people getting in our faces,” says Fielding. “He does massive stars like P. Diddy and Madonna and he says that considering how we’re viewed in the media as a cult phenomenon, we get much more attention in the street than, say, Girls Aloud. Danny says we’re on the same level as Russell Brand, who can’t walk from the door to the car without ten people speaking to him.”

This barometer of fame appears to fascinate and thrill Fielding. Although he complains he can’t eat dinner with his girlfriend (Dee Plume from the band Robots in Disguise) unmolested, he parties hard and publicly with paparazzi-magnets like Courtney Love and Amy Winehouse. He claims he’s tried wearing a baseball cap but fans still recognise him. Hearing this, Julian Barratt smiles wryly: “Noel is never going to dress down.”

It is clear on meeting them that their Boosh characters Vince Noir (Fielding), the narcissistic extrovert, and Howard Moon (Barratt), the serious, socially awkward jazz obsessive, are comic exaggerations of their own personalities. At the afternoon photo shoot, Fielding breaks free of the hair and make-up lady, sprays most of a can of Elnett on to his Bolan feather-cut and teases it to his satisfaction. Very Vince. “It is an art-life crossover,” says Barratt.

At 40, five years older than Fielding, Barratt exhibits the profound weariness of a man trying to balance a five-month national tour with new-fatherhood. After every Saturday night show he returns home to his 18-month-old twins, Arthur and Walter, and his partner Julia Davis (the creator-star of Nighty Night) and today he was up at 5am pushing a pram on Hampstead Heath before taking the train north to rejoin the Boosh. “I go back so the boys remember who I am. But it’s harder to leave them every time,” he says. “It is totally schizophrenic, totally opposite mental states: all this self-obsession and then them.”

About two nights a week on tour, Fielding doesn’t go to bed, parties through the night and performs the next evening having not slept at all. Barratt often retreats to his room to plough through box sets of The Wire. “It’s a bit gritty, but that is in itself an escape, because what we do is so fantastical.”

But mostly it is hard to resist the instant party provided by a large cast, crew and band. Indeed, drinking with them, it appears Fielding and Barratt are but the most famous members of a close collective of artists, musicians and old mates. Fielding’s brother Michael, who previously worked in a bowling alley, plays Naboo the shaman. “He is late every single day,” complains Noel. “He’s mad and useless, but I’m quite protective of him, quite parental.” Michael is always arguing with Bollo the gorilla, aka Fielding’s best mate, Dave Brown, a graphic artist relieved to remove his costume – “It’s so hot in there I fear I may never father children” – to design the Boosh book. One of the lighting crew worked as male nanny to Barratt’s twins and was in Michael’s class at school: “The first time I met you,” he says to Noel, “you gave me a dead arm.” “You were 9,” Fielding replies. “And you were messing with my stuff.”

This gang aren’t hangers-on but the wellspring of the Boosh’s originality and its strange, homespun, degree-show aesthetic: a character called Mr Susan is made out of chamois leathers, the Hitcher has a giant Polo Mint for an eye. When they need a tour poster they ignore the promoter’s suggestions and call in their old mate, Nige.

Fielding and Barratt met ten years ago at a comedy night in a North London pub. The former had just left Croydon Art College, the latter had dropped out of an American Studies degree at Reading to try stand-up, although he was so terrified at his first gig that he ran off stage and had to be dragged back by the compere.

While superficially different, their childhoods have a common theme: both had artistic, bohemian parents who exercised benign neglect. Fielding’s folks were only 17 when he was born: “They were just kids really. Hippies. Though more into Black Sabbath and Led Zep. There were lots of parties and crazy times. They loved dressing up. And there was a big gap between me and my brother – about nine years – so I was an only child for a long time, hanging out with them, lots of weird stuff going on.

“The great thing about my mum and dad is they let me do anything I wanted as a kid as long as I wasn’t misbehaving. I could eat and go to bed when I liked. I used to spend a lot of time drawing and painting and reading. In my own world, I guess.”

Growing up in Mitcham, South London, his father was a postmaster, while his mother now works for the Home Office. Work was merely the means to fund a good time. “When your dad is into David Bowie, how do you rebel against that? You can’t really. They come to all the gigs. They’ve been in America for the past three weeks. I’m ringing my mum really excited because we’re hanging out with Jim Sheridan, who directed In the Name of the Father, and the Edge from U2, and she said, ‘We’re hanging with Jack White,’ whom they met through a friend of mine. Trumped again!”

Barratt’s father was a Leeds art teacher, his mother an artist later turned businesswoman. “Dad was a bit more strict and academic. Mum would let me do anything I wanted, didn’t mind whether I went to school.” Through his father he became obsessed with Monty Python, went to jazz and Spike Milligan gigs, learnt about sex from his dad’s leatherbound volumes of Penthouse.

Barratt joined bands and assumed he would become a musician (he does all the Boosh’s musical arrangements); Fielding hoped to become an artist (he designed the Boosh book cover and throughout our interview sketches obsessively). Instead they threw their talents into comedy. Barratt: “It is a great means of getting your ideas over instantly.” Fielding: “Yes, it is quite punk in that way.”

Their 1998 Edinburgh Fringe show called The Mighty Boosh was named, obscurely, after a friend’s description of Michael Fielding’s huge childhood Afro: “A mighty bush.” While their double-act banter has an old-fashioned dynamic, redolent of Morecambe and Wise, the show threw in weird characters and a fantasy storyline in which they played a pair of zookeepers. They are very serious about their influences. “Magritte, Rousseau...” says Fielding. “I like Rousseau’s made-up worlds: his jungle has all the things you’d want in a jungle, even though he’d never been in one so it was an imaginary place.”

Eclectic, weird and, crucially, unprepared to compromise their aesthetic sensibilities, it was 2004 before, championed by Steve Coogan’s Baby Cow production company, their first series aired on BBC3. Through repeats and DVD sales the second series, in which the pair have left the zoo and are living above Naboo’s shop, found a bigger audience. Last year the first episode of series three had one million viewers. But perhaps the Boosh’s true breakthrough into mainstream came in June when George Bush visited Belfast and a child presented him with a plant labelled “The Mighty Bush”. Assuming it was a tribute to his greatness, the president proudly displayed it for the cameras, while the rest of Britain tittered.

A Boosh audience these days is quite a mix. In Sheffield the front row is rammed with teenage indie girls, heavy on the eyeliner, who fancy Fielding. But there are children, too: my own sons can recite whole “crimps” (the Boosh’s silly, very English version of rap) word for word. And there are older, respectable types who, when I interview them, all apologise for having such boring jobs. They’re accountants, IT workers, human resources officers and civil servants. But probe deeper and you find ten years ago they excelled at art A level or played in a band, and now puzzle how their lives turned out so square. For them, the Boosh embody their former dreams. And their DIY comedy, shambolic air, the slightly crap costumes, the melding of fantasy with the everyday, feels like something they could still knock up at home.

Indeed, many fans come to gigs in costume. At the Mighty Boosh Festival 15,000 people came dressed up to watch bands and absurdity in a Kent field. And in Sheffield I meet a father-and-son combo dressed as Howard Moon and Bob Fossil – general manager of the zoo – plus a gang of thirty-something parents elaborately attired as Crack Fox, Spirit of Jazz, a granny called Nanageddon, and Amy Housemouse. “I love the Boosh because it’s total escapism,” says Laura Hargreaves, an employment manager dressed as an Electro Fairy. “It’s not all perfect and people these days worry too much that things aren’t perfect. It’s just pure fun.”

But how to retain that appealingly amateur art-school quality now that the Boosh is a mega comedy brand? Noel Fielding is adamant that they haven’t grown cynical, that The Mighty Book of Boosh was a long-term project, not a money-spinner chucked out for Christmas: “There is a lot of heart in what we do,” he says. Barratt adds: “It’s been hard this year to do everything we’ve wanted, to a standard we’re proud of... Which is why we’re worn to shreds.”

Comedy is most powerful in intimate spaces, but the Boosh show, with its huge set, requires major venues. “We’ve lost money every day on the tour,” says Fielding. “The crew and the props and what it costs to take them on the road – it’s ridiculous. Small gigs would lose millions of pounds.”

The live show is a kind of Mighty Boosh panto, with old favourites – Bob Fossil, Bollo, Tony Harrison, etc – coming on to cheers of recognition. But it lacks the escapism to the perfectly conceived world of the TV show. They have told the BBC they don’t want a fourth series: they want a movie. They would also, as with Little Britain USA, like a crack at the States, where they run on BBC America. Clearly the Boosh needs to keep evolving or it will die.

Already other artists are telling Fielding and Barratt to make their money now: “They say this is our time, which is quite frightening.” I recall Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer, who dominated the Nineties with Big Night Out and Shooting Stars. “Yes, they were massive,” says Fielding. “A number one record...” And now Reeves presents Brainiac. “If you have longer-term goals, it’s not scary,” says Barratt. “To me, I’m heading somewhere else – to direct, make films, write stuff – and at the moment it’s all gone mental. I’m sort of enjoying this as an outsider. It was Noel who had this desire to reach more people.”

Indeed, the old cliché that comedy is the new rock’n’roll is closest to being realised in Noel Fielding. Watching him perform the thrash metal numbers in the Boosh live show, he is half ironic comic performer, half frustrated rock god. His heroes weren’t comics but androgynous musicians: Jagger, Bowie, Syd Barrett. (Although he liked Peter Cook’s style and looks.)

“I like clothes and make-up, I like the transformation,” he says. Does it puzzle him that women find this so sexually attractive? “I was reading a book the other day about the New York Dolls and David Johansen was saying that none of them were gay or even bisexual, and that when they started dressing in stilettos and leather pants, women got it straight away with no explanation. But a lot of men had problems. It’s one of those strange things. A man will go, ‘You f***ing queer.’ And you just think, ‘Well, your girlfriend fancies me.’”

The Boosh stopped signing autographs outside stage doors when it started taking two hours a night. At recent book signings up to 1,500 people have shown up, some sleeping overnight in the queue. And on this tour, the Boosh took control of the after-show parties, once run as money-spinners by the promoters, and now show up in person to do DJ slots. I ask if they like to meet their fans, and they laugh nervously.

Fielding: “We have to be behind a fence.”

Barratt: “They try to rip your clothes off your body.”

Fielding: “The other day my girlfriend gave me this ring. And, doing the rock numbers at the end, I held out my hands and the crowd just ripped it off.”

Barratt: “I see it as a thing which is going to go away. A moment when people are really excited about you. And it can’t last.”

He recalls a man in York grabbing him for a photo, saying, “I’d love to be you, it must be so amazing.” And Barratt says he thought, “Yes, it is. But all the while I was trying to duck into this doorway to avoid the next person.” He’s trying to enjoy the Boosh’s moment, knows it will pass, but all the same?

In the hotel bar, a young woman fan has dodged past Danny and comes brazenly over to Fielding. Head cocked attentively like a glossy bird, he chats, signs various items, submits to photos, speaks to her mate on her phone. The rest of the Boosh crew eye her steelily. They know how it will end. “You have five minutes then you go,” hisses one. “I feel really stupid now,” says the girl. It is hard not to squirm at the awful obeisance of fandom. But still she milks the encounter, demands Fielding come outside to meet her friend. When he demurs she is outraged, and Danny intercedes. Fielding returns to his seat slightly unsettled. “What more does she want?” he mutters, reaching for his wine glass. “A skin sample?”

#I hadn't seen this one before so I thought I'd share #noel will never dress down #ah yes the patient boyfriend Julian Barratt

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midwinterblinder · 3 years

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This is me trying

Chapter 8: “She’s had a hard time?”

“I told Benny that Jo and I have been playing chess.” Hilton says to Gina when they’re hanging out a few days later. Josephine is at a small tournament in Jersey for the weekend, so they have the apartment to themselves. Gina sits up from her position of leaning against him as soon as the words leave his mouth.

“You did?” She asks and he nods in response. Gina can tell from his facial expression that there’s more to this. “How did he react?” She wonders as she turns around on the couch so she’s fully facing him. Hilton told her how hard Benny took it when Josephine left and she’s not sure how he would take this news.

Hilton reaches out to take her hand as he frowns slightly. “Not like I expected him to.” He tells her. “He wants to invite her over for a night of chess.” He says hesitantly, still a little confused by Benny’s reaction himself. “Do you think Jo would want that?”

“I doubt it.” Gina mutters as she looks down at their joined hands. She knows what caused Josephine to leave four years ago and she really wants to tell Hilton, but she promised she would keep it to herself. She believes that Josephine shouldn’t have left. Gina is sure that if Josephine had just told Benny about what happened they could have worked things out, but Josephine is still convinced that Benny would be disgusted by her if he found out what happened. “Look, Jo left for a very serious reason.” She tells Hilton as she looks back up at him. “And I don’t agree with how she handled it, but hanging out with Benny again isn’t really an option in her mind.”

Hilton watches her closely as he takes in her words. “You know what happened.” He states and Gina nods as her eyes move away from his again. “Benny drove himself crazy because he didn’t understand why she left and all this time you knew?” He tone is accusing and Gina tightens her grip on his hand as she feels it slipping from her grasp. He understands that she’s Josephine’s friend, but she knew how hard it was on Benny and Hilton can’t believe she just watched Benny fall apart.

“I didn’t know back then.” Gina assures him as she looks back up at him and Hilton’s eyes soften as he sees that her eyes are slightly watery. “If I had I would have tried to convince her to talk to him about it.” She goes on as Hilton slowly rubs his thumb over her knuckles to clam her down, but he’s not sure what else to do because he doesn’t understand why this is making her so emotional. “What happened to her was really awful, Hilton. But she only made it worse for herself by leaving. If she had just told Benny he could have helped her, but she’s convinced that if he finds out what happened he will hate her.” She sniffles as she thinks back to how she found out what happened.

Hilton reaches out to pull her into his chest, rubbing one of his hands over her back to comfort her. “When did you find out?” He asks softly as he feels her arms wrap around him in return.

“About eight months after she left.” Gina mutters against the fabric of his shirt. “I went to see her in Jersey because I hadn’t heard from her in a pretty long time. When I got there she hadn’t eaten in ages and she looked like she hadn’t slept in days.” She sniffles slightly as she the image of how awful Josephine looked back then comes back to her. “She hated herself after what happened, sometimes she still gets like that but it’s a lot less than it used to be.”

“I’m sorry.” Hilton mutters against the top of her head. He’s not sure what to say. He still doesn’t know what happened, but it sounds really serious and he wishes there was something he could have done back then.

*****

Hilton decides that it’s best to avoid the topic of inviting Josephine for a night of chess for as long as possible, but Arthur seems to think differently because he brings it up the night after Hilton and Gina talked about it. “Have you talked to Jo about joining us for a few games?” Arthur asks as they sit around at Benny’s.

“No, she’s out of town for a tournament.” He tries to brush it off. After last night he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to invite Josephine right now. It could cause her to fall back into her previous pattern of not eating or sleeping and he doesn’t want to do that to her. After all the nights he has spent playing chess with her and talking to her, he has once again realised how nice it is to have her as a friend and the last thing he wants is for her to disappear again.

“What tournament?” Benny asks as he takes a sip of his drink. He knows there are no bigger tournaments this weekend, so she must be at one of the smaller ones. Those tournaments are obviously below her, but she probably just wants to get back into the swing of playing games against different opponents.

“A small one in Jersey.” Hilton answers as he glances up at Benny. “She wants to play as many games as she can before she has to face any big player again.” He explains what Benny already assumed.

“All the more reason for her to join us.” Arthur says. He got along really well with Josephine. She was always up for a chess problem and the two of them could spend ages discussing the problem if one of them came up with a different solution. “Just playing against you must get boring.” He jokes as he looks over at Hilton.

Benny chuckles, but Hilton once again doesn’t join in. He’s thinking of the best way to tell the guys that it’s not a good idea to invite Josephine. “I don’t think it’s a great idea to invite her right now.” He starts hesitantly as he looks at the board on Benny’s sad excuse for a coffee table. “She’s had a hard time and I think she needs a little longer to adjust to everything.” He tries to explain.

“She’s had a hard time?” Benny frown as he leans forward, his elbow resting on his knees and his hands wrapped around the beer bottle in his hand. “She had a hard time?” He repeats as his grip on the bottle tightens. “She’s the one that left, Hilton.” The words come out harsh and his jaw clenches. “And now I’m supposed to feel sorry for her?” He asks exasperated as he looks at Hilton.

“That’s not what I meant, Benny.” Hilton sighs as he looks at his friend. “All I’m saying is that you don’t know what she’s been through and that she has only just returned to New York, so we should give her some time to settle in.” He tries again.

Benny studies Hilton for a moment, wondering why he’s suddenly defending Josephine. “There’s something you’re not saying.” He mutters as he continues to stare at Hilton, who’s expression becomes more nervous when Benny says this. “You know.” Benny breathes out after a moment of silence as he leans back in his chair, shocked by the idea that Hilton knows but won’t tell him. “You know what happened, why she left.”

Hilton immediately shakes his head. “No, I don’t.” He tells Benny. “I’m still just as clueless about that as you. All I know is that it was something bad and that she was in such a bad state that Gina barely recognised her when she saw her a few months after she left.”

Arthur’s eyes shift from Hilton to Benny to see how he will react. He sees the look on his friends face soften slightly and Arthur feels for Benny, because it’s clear that even after all this time he still cares about Josephine. “Does Gina know what happened?” Benny asks, his voice softer now but his eyes still locked on Hilton’s.

Hilton looks away and nods. “She won’t tell me though.” He immediately adds as he looks back at Benny. “She promised Jo that she wouldn’t say anything. Gina thinks Jo handled it wrong. She told me that if Jo had stayed and talked to you about it, it would have taken time but things would have worked out.” He explains to Benny. “But Jo was convinced that you would break up with her if you found out anyway, so she left before you could.”

Benny’s eyes drift away from Hilton as he takes in his words. Why would Josephine think he would break up with her? He loved her and she loved him, at least that’s what he thought. He would have done anything for her and he can’t imagine that there’s anything she could have done that he wouldn’t forgive her for. The only thing that could be bad enough for him to break up with her would be if she cheated on him, but he refuses to believe she would have done that. She would never do that. Right?

#benny watts #benny watts imagine #benny watts fanfiction #the queen's gambit #the queens gambit imagine #the queen's gambit fanfiction

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wherearemyglassesbro · 3 years

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Omg omg omg omg everyone be quiet right now thank you @heyheyjay for THIS

For starters, it would absolutely have a very negative effect on Fran’s relationship with Arthur. He’s aware it’s irrational and his feelings are based on personal issues but having his rival/friend/lover defend a murderer? And have that murderer get away? Oh no, Fran would probably not talk to him for awhile after. Not because he’s mad AT Arthur, he just has to sort out his own feelings. He’s a complex guy and his feelings are like balls of colored yarn all tangled together. He has to take time to sort it all out and come to a conclusion. “I am not upset with you. I am upset with the outcome of that trial. I would like for us to go back to being friends again...If that’s alright...” he’s still closed off for awhile but eventually, he’ll open back up and go back to normal, the incident not forgotten but forgiven

The first two times Arthur saw Francis in a murder trial setting were VERY different. The first time, he was still somewhat of a rookie. He had gone up against Francis twice now in court and won both times. Now he wanted to study his way of speaking, his organization, his body language, that kind of stuff. So he sat in the crowd, off to the side out of the field of vison for the prosecutors booth.

Francis carried himself the same as usual. Confident and proud, speaking passionately on behalf of the victim, appealing to the jury. He did everything by the book and to be honest? Arthur was impressed. It was different watching him from the crowd than it was from the defense booth.

When Francis lost the trial, even Arthur was shocked. He watched him stiffly pack his papers away and leave the courtroom in a hurry. It was strange behavior for sure, something that he’d never seen before. Instead of his classic smile, he sported a frown and a look in his eyes that Arthur couldn’t place. To be nice, he caught up with him in the hallway “Look, I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to but I want to let you know, you did fantastic in there. I don’t know how on earth you lost that-“ “Leave me alone, Kirkland” Francis all but shoved past him, making a beeline for his car. Arthur could hear the squeal of his tires from inside the courthouse

That was not the loud, extravagant Francis he knew. That was someone else, someone sad and angry...Maybe Francis was more complex than he thought (Spoiler alert: Yes. He is)

The second time he witnessed a loss, he was far closer with the Frenchman. He knew his mannerisms and his body language. The two were teetering on the edge of being in a relationship or just being super close friends. Francis didn’t want Arthur to go to this trial but he insisted “It’s my day off. I’ll come support you and we can go to lunch afterwards. No big deal. I like seeing you in court” Francis was reluctant but had him sit in the second row anyways for moral support

Again, he did everything right. Arthur was criticizing the defense in his head ‘you dolt, you’re talking too much. It’s giving Francis the upper hand’. Of course he wanted Francis to win. Even as a defense attorney himself, he knows a guilty face when he sees one. He’s once again shocked when Francis loses

This time he notices how his hands shake, clenching and unclenching. There’s tension in his shoulders, the mask of confidence gone from his face. He was fighting to suppress a frown, swallowing around the lump of guilt in his throat

Francis apologized to his clients when the court was released, hugging them and shaking their hands, promising paperwork in the mail....yadda yadda. Arthur noticed how tired he looked, the way his shoulders now sagged in defeat

“You did great out there love” “I don’t need your pity, Arthur” “I’m not pitying you. You did everything right” “Apparently not”

Arthur led him to the parking lot, cupping his cheeks when they were out of the public eye “I know how it feels to lose something big like this. It stings, I know. However, it isn’t the end of the world”

“‘It isn’t the end of the world’? Are you kidding me? You’ll never-! Forget it. I’m going home” “Francis? We were-“ “I don’t care about lunch” and with that, he got in his car and sped off, tires screeching once again

Arthur is invited over for dinner later on, Francis apologizes for the way he reacted and Arthur assures him that it was no big deal. He expresses his emotions differently than Arthur does and he is still getting used to it! And this is Francis’s first relationship since Jeanne so he’s still re-learning how to open up about more serious or intense feelings. There’s a learning curve for them both.

So I also I think I’m gonna talk about Jeanne again cause I WAS gonna have a single post dedicated to her effect on Fran and Art’s relationship but I think lll....Just go over it here. There is a small fic at the end but I can’t even really call it that, it’s 2 paragraphs of text lol so yeah :)

More under the cut cause this is getting long and I feel bad clogging your dashes :0

So Art knew about Jeanne before he really knew Francis personally. Before he goes up against prosecutors, he asks Eliza about them and their argument styles, stuff like that. She advised him to stay away from murder trials if Fran managed to get his hands on one and since he didn’t know about Jeanne he was like ‘pfftt what? You think I can’t take him?’ And she was like ‘No...He can’t take you’ oh...

Eliza told him like...The bare minimum. Francis’s girlfriend was killed behind a small party store and he was the one who discovered her body. That’s all he knew about it

But when he and Fran started to get serious relationship-wise Francis decided to sit him down to have a talk with him, pouring his heart out to him after a long, draining day at the courthouse:

// Uhhhh tw for the rest for death mention and description of finding Jeanne after her death. Like...blood and all so if that makes you uncomfortable: this is your warning :0 //

“We dated for five years. From eight grade to twelfth...It was like we were joined at the hip. We were always together wether it be baking in the kitchen, studying at the library, going to the movies or attending church camp. We did it all together. Hell...In highschool, we were voted ‘cutest couple’ every year. She was my date for every school dance and she would have been my prom date too if... If she had lived” Francis choked out a sad laugh “She had the most beautiful dress picked out and I had a suit to match. She was so excited about it...”

“That day was my nightmare. I relive that day over and over again in my dreams, thinking about everything I could have done to prevent that outcome. I should have taken her to the store earlier. I should have gone in with her. I shouldn’t have answered the phone and gotten distracted when my friend called. She was in there for forty minutes just to grab some streamers and a bag of candy for a piñata... When I went in to look for her she wasn’t there. I looked around, called her name, called her phone...no answer. The cashier helped me look too as I started getting worried. In the bathrooms, the stock room, the janitors closet, behind the refrigerators...All that was left was the rear exit. She didn’t go out there right? No...that was unlike her...” tears started to slowly make their way down his cheeks “When we pushed the door open, I remember seeing the pool of blood right there on the ground and thinking it was just a puddle. How wrong was I. My legs moved on their own, I rounded the corner and there she was. Her hair was covered in blood from the gash across her temple, her favorite floral blouse ripped and dirty. Her purse was gone. She was just laying there on the dirty, cold asphalt” Francis shook his head, rubbing his face as the memory replayed once more

“Out of the corner of our eyes, the cashier and I saw the perpetrator and he chased him down, catching him and sitting on him until the police arrived. I called them...I don’t even remember making the call but I distinctly remember them telling me not to touch her- not to mess with the ‘evidence’. I didn’t listen. I sat in the pool of blood and held her until the ambulance arrived, petting her hair as she slowly went cold in my arms...Praying that just maybe she’d make it. They were too late. I was too late.”

“What was it all for, you ask? That evil son of a bitch wanted her money. She only had $10 on her that day. He killed her over $10! And after all of my pain, her family’s suffering, that fucker got to walk free after two years? Two years! It isn’t fair at all. I don’t mean to ramble too much but before you and I become anything too serious I just- I need you to know about her. She made me who I am today, she’s the reason I practice law, she’s always here with me” he clutched his cross necklace in his shaky hand “Just because I still love her does not mean I love you any less, Arthur. I will always be here for you but at the same time, I will be there for her. I’ll still visit her grave and her parents...I’ll have her picture on the mantle...”

Arthur reached out to rest a hand on the blond’s arm. This was a new side of Francis he hadn’t seen before. Sure he knew about Jeanne by now, he had seen her picture in Francis’s apartment. He knew the other took the two hour trip up north to visit Jeanne’s grave and her family every other month. He knew she was important to him but he had never heard the full story like this before. He truly didn’t know the extent of the damage that day had done “I understand, dear. If Jeanne is important to you, she’s important to me. She’ll always have a place here with us” he assured, pulling Francis in to hug him against his chest to let him cry “I don’t think I can begin to express how badly I feel for you. But you can always confide in me, I’ll be here because I lo-like you a lot. I want you to be open with me. This...is a lot to bottle up” Francis nodded and wiped his eyes as Arthur brushed his curls out of his face “If it isn’t overstepping any boundaries, maybe I could come up north with you next time you go to visit her?”

“I...I think I’d like that. I’ve already told her and her family about you. I’m sure they’d love to meet you”

———

Well I hope that wasn’t bad! I haven’t written in a fic format in uhhh hehe a year or so so...yeah! Anyways! Yup! That’s all for now :) ❤️ thanks for reading this far if y’all did!!!!

((Looking back I hate the formatting of the ficlet thingy but tbh there’s not much I can do about it now :) ))

#lawyer au :)#aph england #aph france #Fruk #I feel bad putting this in the h/talia tags so uhhh....yeah #I only used those three for blog navigation so...sorry :)#anyway!!! this was a lot of fun!!#enjoy the word vomit ❤️😄

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

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Don’t Worry

Prompt: okay so i found your quarantine drabble "it started with a flower" merlin series and can we pls have more of gwen and arthur being worry warts while merlin continues to not understand why their worried? bonus points if merlin is immortal/cant be killed by human injuries so he's more reckless and gwen and arthur are just like "oh for fucks sake please stop merlin if for no other reason then we are mortal and you're killing us w stress" we love self-sacrificing merlin and his worried lovers

Thanks for the prompt, babe! It was so nice to look back at the true mountain of drabbles on this account...still can't get over the fact that a drabble is SUPPOSED to be 100 words exactly...also SHAMELESS D20 reference because that's how we roll babey

Read on Ao3

Pairings: merthur, gwen/arthur, gwen/arthur/merlin

Warnings: none

Word Count: 5653

Merlin has lived through many, many things. He continues to live through many, many things.

The fact that he can do this does not prevent Gwen and Arthur from worrying when he makes some, frankly, quite questionable decisions.

Or, five times Merlin makes Arthur and Gwen worry, and one time they make him worry in return.

1: Poison

In hindsight, the visiting lord was absolutely trying to kill both Arthur and Gwen. The man turned up with all his servants and knights in armor. Even the servants, yes, in leather tunics and with many different squires juggling things that were definitely supposed to be kept hidden. Arthur, of course, didn’t realize this because he’s been trying to be more focused on his own presentation—at least that’s the excuse he gives Gwen—but Merlin knows better. He’s been doing this for a long time.

So when the lord makes a show of rising to his feet amidst a jubilant feast, raising a goblet high in the air, praising Camelot, her strength, and the power of a strong, worthy leader, Merlin has to hide the roll of his eyes when he deftly removes both Gwen and Arthur’s goblets from their grasps. Arthur opens his prat mouth to ask what the hell is going on, only for Merlin to raise an eyebrow, toast to the lord, and down the contents of both.

“Merlin!”

Lancelot is out of his chair in an instant, rushing across the hall to catch Merlin as he slumps, followed swiftly by Gwaine who bellows for Gaius. Percival and Elyan don’t hesitate to draw steel, watching as the servants of the visiting lord hold up their hands.

“My lord,” the visiting lord simpers, “I have absolutely no idea what could have—“

“Save it,” Arthur growls, standing, “you have brought poison into the heart of Camelot. You will explain, but I have no wish to hear your pathetic mumblings right now.”

He turns his back on the lord as the knights rush him, holding the others at bay as Arthur kneels down at Merlin’s side. Gwen rises as well, her chin aloft, looking every bit the queen she is.

Merlin, of course, can’t hear a damn thing past the roaring of blood in his ears. This one’s a nasty one—he can feel it burning as it goes down his throat, splitting off into slivers that find their way through his body, into his chest, into his arms, right down to the tips of his fingers. It feels as though he’s both deathly cold and about to sweat out every little bit of moisture in his body.

He can’t see much either, his eyes squeezing shut to deal with the pain, but he can sense the moving of blurry shapes above him. Probably Lancelot, probably Gwaine, probably not Gaius yet, he’s quite far away.

Oh, is he being lifted? He’s probably being lifted. Alright, so they’re taking him to Gaius this time. That’s new. Wow, is the walk to Gaius’s always this long? Yes? No? He’s having a bit of a hard time keeping track of time right now.

“Merlin? Merlin, can you hear me?”

“Yes,” Merlin tries to say, only for his throat to explode in agony again the second fresh air enters, so he just ends up making this horrible half-screech-groan sound.

“Don’t try and speak,” the voice orders, presumably doing something other than just standing there watching this happen, not that Merlin can feel anything, “just hold on. We’re doing our best.”

Merlin closes his eyes fully and relaxes as much as he can onto the bench. Which probably isn’t very much if he remembers how most of these poisons work. He breathes, reaches deep into his chest for his magic, and waits, letting the slow golden light work its way around his body, helped along by whatever Gaius is doing to him.

He opens his eyes an uncertain amount of time later, looking straight into the most disapproving eyebrow he’s gotten in a while.

He swallows, cracking a smile when his throat merely tingles.

“So,” he croaks, “did I miss the rest of the feast?”

“Oh, Merlin!”

Ah, there’s Gwen—she flies into his arms, wrapping her own tightly around his middle, squeezing and holding on for dear life. Oh, her face is wet, has she—

“Hey, hey,” he mumbles, clumsily trying to pat her back, “it’s okay, ‘m alright. You’re alright too.”

“Thanks to you,” Gwen says, drawing back and wiping her face only to join Gaius in staring at him with the face of a disappointed parent, “Merlin, what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I have a much better chance of surviving that than you and Arthur?”

Gwen bats his shoulder with her shawl. “That is beside the point and you know it. You scared us.”

“Sorry, but—“

“No, Merlin,” Gwen says sternly, “no ‘buts.’ I understand what you’re trying to do, but you know this isn’t good for you.”

“I don’t normally down poison on the regular, no.”

He grins, big and cheeky, right in her face. And to give her credit, she manages to gold that stern queenly façade for a few moments longer before she breaks, smiling and shaking her head and rushing right back in to hug him.

“I trust you unconditionally,” she murmurs, “I just wish you didn’t have to.”

“I have to keep you safe,” Merlin mumbles, still quite tired from fighting the poison, “and I’m alright. I’m always alright, you know that.”

“I know, Merlin.” She draws back and cups his face with a gentle hand. “But I worry.”

“So do I.”

“Not about yourself,” Gwen whispers, “not nearly as much as you should.”

“Well, when I start reacting to deadly things like a normal person, I’ll be more worried.”

2: Bandits

They’re just on a hunting trip. It’s not even a patrol. The knights aren’t even in all their capes and obvious things that flap about in the wind like signal flags saying ‘yes! Hello! We are here and we are obviously from Camelot! Please come and try to stab us!’ Seriously, Merlin’s going to have words with whoever decided that a mandatory part of the knights’ everyday patrol wear is going to be massive red things tied around their necks. It’s a serious thing that he’s run into at least four times. It’s getting a little ridiculous.

Anyway, they’re not wearing those this time, because this is a casual hunt for only the king and his most trusted. Also known as: Arthur the prat is getting tired of being a prat in the castle and wants to go be a prat outside.

Also also known as: court life is hard and the knights—and Merlin—can see Arthur getting tired. So they drag him out to the woods where he can’t escape any of their snark because “There’s no one else here but us, Princess, get used to it.”

Merlin knows Arthur well enough to know he’s secretly very, very grateful for it.

You wanna know what he’s probably not grateful for? The inability of one of their hunts to go without running into at least one mess of bandits after an easy raid.

One hunt, just one. Please.

Merlin doesn’t even like hunts. He just likes not being in the citadel all the time.

He ducks swiftly behind a tree as a bandit takes a wild swing at him with his sword, getting it lodged in the trunk next to him. Merlin’s eyes go wide as the bandit rips it out again with a vicious snarl, drool leaking from his lips as he grins angrily at Merlin. His nose wrinkles as he smells the bandit’s breath.

“Ugh, you’re worse than Arthur in the morning.”

He uses the bandit’s momentary confusion to blast him across the clearing into a tree, knocking him out.

“So Arthur in the morning, huh?”

Merlin rolls his eyes as Gwaine blocks another sword. “Listen, if you want to try and get the prat out of bed, you be my guest.”

“And deprive you of that honor?” Gwaine smirks. “Not on your life.”

Merlin opens his mouth to make some snappy remark when he notices four bandits rushing at them over Gwaine’s shoulder.

“Look out!”

He sends Gwaine to the side with a blast of magic, ignoring the shout of protest. The bandits get closer, swords raised high, one of them letting out a vicious cackle.

Merlin sighs. Honestly.

He raises his hand and sends them all flying backward, smiling a little at the way the vicious cackle turns into a whine that would’ve made the runt of the new litter of dogs ashamed. The bandits lie on the ground, dazed, swords lying all across the clearing.

“Merlin!”

Merlin glances over, seeing Arthur rushing at him. He barely has time to turn before Arthur’s bowling into him, hugging him so tightly he panics for a second that Arthur’s under some sort of enchantment trying to kill him. Only to realize no, this is just his prat hugging him because he’s scared.

“I’m fine, Arthur.”

“There were four of them, you—clot pole!”

“That’s my word.”

“Yes, and it suits you perfectly! Merlin, you could’ve been killed!”

Merlin makes a show of looking around at himself, still fully intact, then back up at a panting Arthur. “I think I’m all in one piece, sire.”

“Don’t you ‘sire’ me, Merlin, you—“

“Did Arthur just admit that he likes it when I don’t refer to him with the proper titles?” Merlin glances around at the other knights that are trying valiantly not to laugh. “Did I just hear that right?”

“That’s what I heard.”

“Me too.”

“I mean we all knew it.”

“It’s taken him this long to figure it out.”

Leon simply shrugs. That man’s ability to keep a straight face is something Merlin will always respect and never understand. But he has gotten very good at spotting the way Leon will wink surreptitiously at him when he’s amused. Like now.

“Alright, alright, enough,” Arthur mutters, sheathing his sword and wrapping his arms tightly around Merlin again. “Don’t do that.”

“What, take care of all of our enemies really easily?”

“Scare me.”

“And now you’re admitting that you get scared when I’m in danger?”

“Only because I know Gwen would have my head.”

“Ah, yes, because Gwen is like that.”

Arthur glares at him. There’s a flash of something behind his eyes. Merlin spots it.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, too quiet for the others to hear, “and I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“You’d better be.”

“Alright, lovebirds,” Gwaine calls loudly to various laughs, “let’s go. There are still tracks here.”

Arthur looks back at Merlin. “You’re riding next to me.”

“You say that as if I don’t already ride next to you.”

“Shut up.”

3: Fall

Okay so listen: when you chase people around the castle, they inevitably look for a way out. And if they’re high up, they’re going to go for a window if they get desperate enough.

Yes? Everyone on the same page?

Wonderful.

So Merlin’s currently falling out of a window.

In his defense, there was a rogue sorcerer who hadn’t realized that the ban on magic had been lifted and Uther isn’t king anymore skulking around the citadel. Merlin’s best guess is that they were imprisoned somewhere and only just got free, otherwise they’d’ve known. And, well, they tried to explain that magic is legal now—he’s so proud of Gwen and Arthur, really.

Someone just burst into their chambers in the middle of the knight and Gwen had been out of bed, offering him a drink and sitting down while Arthur asked the guards if they could bring food. They’d told him the ban had been lifted and that he was free to practice magic now. Then Merlin had shown up and asked what was going on and apparently, they’d taken it as a challenge? That Merlin—the Court Sorcerer—was going to arrest them for practicing magic.

In their defense, it was the middle of the night. Not in their defense, come on.

So they’d run, promising to bring down the walls of the castle. Merlin had rolled his eyes because he just got here, and taken off after him. They’d run around the top floors of the castle for a while, trying to figure out first, where the stairs were, and second, what the bloody hell was going on.

Then the sorcerer had jumped out a window. Sure. Alright.

Unluckily for him, when he’d broken the glass, a large shard had decided to make its home in his chest and he was dead before he hit the ground. Merlin, not realizing precisely what the plan was—when had he ever?—jumped after him, only to realize that there is in fact, no courtyard over here, just empty air until the cold stone of the square below.

So, falling.

It’s surprisingly peaceful, as a way to go. Time to enjoy the view, a good reminder that they should really make sure there’s someone at the front gate, and Merlin simply closes his eyes and concentrates.

There.

At the last possible minute, he slows, reaching almost a stop, before letting himself drop the last few feet to land harmlessly on the ground. Well. That could’ve gone better.

“Merlin!”

“Right on time,” he mutters, getting himself to his feet, and brushing off the little pieces of glass, looking up to see Gwen leaning out of the window.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Oh, thank god,” she calls, “you’re alright. Now get up here, this instant.”

He grins, sweeping into a low bow before heading up the stairs. He opens the door to their quarters and is promptly yanked inside and into an embrace.

“Hello, Gwen,” he says softly, “it’s good to see you too.”

“Good to see—Merlin,” Gwen scolds, "you could’ve been hurt.”

“But I wasn’t.”

“That doesn’t make it any better!” Gwen wipes her face and oh…oops.

“I’m alright Gwen,” he says quietly, “really.”

It’s late. It’s the middle of the night and it’s dark and Gwen just had to put on every single ounce of royal charm she has, and watch Merlin take a fall that would’ve killed pretty much everyone else. As he watches, her queenly mask starts to break as she keeps a hold of his sleeve, dragging him to the table and setting a plate of food aside, glaring at him.

“Are you hurt?”

“Not at all, my lady.”

“Don’t. Not now, Merlin. Not while I’m this worried.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” he demurs, lifting his hands in surrender, “but really, Gwen, I’m not hurt. I’ve been practicing that spell, it won’t—“

“You’ve been practicing?” Merlin winces as Gwen draws herself up taller. “So you regularly throw yourself from great heights?”

“No, I just jump off my bed.”

“Off your bed?”

“The point is that I slow immediately when the spell takes effect,” Merlin says, “so I don’t need very much distance from the floor.”

She folds her arms and stares at him. “So what you’re saying is this is the first time you’ve done it from a great height and you weren’t sure it was going to work?”

Merlin’s hesitation gives her all the answers she needs.

“Gods, Merlin,” she mumbles, slumping into a chair and covering her face, “you’re going to scare me to death one of these days.”

“Nah. I’ll save you from that.”

“How, by doing some equally death-defying stunt?”

Merlin grins and takes her hand. “No. By not letting you see it.”

“Merlin…”

He relents, opening his arms and letting her give him another hug. He squeezes back firmly, trying to communicate that he’s here, he’s safe, and it’s okay.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Gwen whispers eventually, “and I’m glad that everything…worked out. We do need to make sure that the sorcerers no longer feel the need to live in fear…”

Merlin chuckles as he feels Gwen’s brow furrow against his shoulder, probably already drafting things to do.

“Not tonight, Your Majesty,” he scolds gently, pushing her toward the bed, “you need rest.”

“Mm.”

“Where’s Arthur?”

“Probably looking for you,” Gwen murmurs as she slides back beneath the covers, “so you have to stay up until he gets back.”

“…and so he can yell at me too, hmm?”

Gwen snuggles into her pillow and smiles.

4: Stab

So.

Uh, Merlin doesn’t really know how they got here this time.

Because—right, well, it’s not really a secret that Merlin is very close to both Gwen and Arthur. It’s just not. Anyone with a pair of eyes who can walk into Camelot and see them is going to figure it out. Even Uther realized it.

Merlin will never forget the way Arthur burst out laughing when he told him what Uther said to Merlin that day before the tournament, looking up with tears in his eyes and just managing to gasp: “you’re telling me that you and I got my father’s blessing before Gwen and I even started seeing each other?”

Yes. Yes, he is.

Anyway, the point is, Gwen, Merlin, Arthur, they’re very close.

Also something that should be fairly obvious to anyone who’s been to Camelot in the last little bit of time is that one: magic is legal. Two: Merlin is Court Sorcerer.

Get it? Wonderful. So.

The man who is currently holding Merlin hostage with a sword to his throat knows that Merlin is important to Gwen and Arthur. He doesn’t seem to realize that Merlin is Court Sorcerer.

How those two things are not the first two things he realized Merlin does not understand. Honestly, he’s going to chalk that up to why he’s too startled by the fact that he’s got people coming at him with a sword to do anything about it. The sheer inability of those facts to reconcile in his brain prevents him from taking any action.

Honestly, he’s still figuring that out. Enough so that it takes him a while to realize that Leon is desperately trying to signal him and ask if he’s alright.

He gives back the okay and Leon’s expression morphs into one of soft exasperation. To everyone else, it probably doesn’t look like Leon’s face has changed at all, but they haven’t spent several council meetings with the man trading insults only through shifts in micro-expressions.

It’s quite entertaining, especially when they start to get really, really creative.

Anyway. Sword. Throat. Yes.

He’s not sure why currently being held hostage. Someone who wants something, probably. That’s generally why people get taken hostage, right? The sword presses a little closer and Merlin makes an effort to focus.

“Do this,” Arthur warns, his own sword out, “and you will never leave Camelot alive.”

“What good is Camelot,” the man scoffs, “if it allows for the devilish act of witchcraft and sorcery that will poison it from the inside?”

“You’re wrong.”

“Maybe,” the man snarls, spittle flying from his lips, “but not nearly as stupid as you.”

Arthur glances at Merlin. Merlin nods.

“Let him go,” Arthur says again, “and this might yet end well.”

The man throws his head back and cackles, the sword nudging insistently at his throat. Merlin winces. That was loud.

“This won’t end well,” the man says through his giggles, “and you know it.”

“Then let him go.”

“Alright,” the man snickers, “but you’ll have to give me a head start.”

Gwaine snarls, even as Arthur holds firm.

“I make you no promises.”

“I know. That’s why I’m giving myself a head start.”

Merlin’s about to wonder what the hell that means only for the sword to drive into his stomach.

Ah. That’s not ideal.

He slumps to the ground as the man lets him go, hearing the screams from the servants gathered in the hall and the shouts from the knights. He feels the breeze as they rush past him, two remaining behind to immediately put pressure on the wound and get him upright, wrapping his stomach tightly and promising that he’s going to be alight.

“‘Lyan?”

“Yeah, Merlin,” Elyan mutters, “it’s me. Leon’s here too, we’ve got you.”

“You’ll be alright, yes?” Leon whips off the bloodied tunic. “You will be fine.”

“Sit m’ up.”

They do, propping him up against the wall as the servants quickly rush for Gaius, for hot water, for bandages. Someone—maybe Malwen—sets a bowl at Leon’s elbow, followed by the quick assurances that Gaius is on his way.

Merlin closes his eyes and concentrates, trying to remember the few times Gaius tried to teach him about basic anatomy. Listen, it’s not that he wasn’t paying attention, it’s just that he—

Yeah, no, he wasn’t paying much attention.

Listen, like…three different people were trying to kill Arthur that day. He was preoccupied.

Stab wound. Right.

Merlin takes a deep breath, ignoring the way the breath aches and wheezes as it travels into him, and starts to gently draw magic from the well in his chest toward the stab wound. He feeds it slowly, trying not to overexert himself, just enough to staunch and stop the bleeding until Gaius can get here.

Something clatters to the floor next to him and he barely looks over enough to see Arthur.

“Stay still,” Arthur murmurs frantically, fussing with his tunic, “you’ll be alright Merlin, I promise, you’re going to be alright.”

Merlin knows, but he’s busy right now, so he can’t really talk back.

“It’s going to be alright,” Arthur repeats, over and over, “Merlin, you’re going to be alright.”

He manages to look over, catching sight of Arthur’s hair a mess, his eyes wild, his mouth a hard line. Arthur glances up from his slightly trembling hands and catches his gaze, doing his best to put on a brave smile. He reaches out and cups Merlin’s face gently.

“It’s going to be alright,” he says softly, speaking as much to both of them as he can, “you’re going to be alright, Gaius will fix you up, and then I can worry about how to make sure you’re safe, so this never happens again.”

His mouth quirks when something flits across Merlin’s face.

“If you try and tell me you can take care of yourself,” he admonishes gently, “I am going to remind you that you currently have quite the stab wound.”

One that Merlin is handling quite well, actually, thank you very much.

“I know you’d rather it be you than us,” Arthur whispers, laying his forehead against Merlin’s, “but you—you can’t just let this happen to you, Merlin, you’ll…”

He swallows, his eyes drifting shut.

“…you’ll break my heart.”

A surge of magic shoots through Merlin at Arthur’s hushed confession, filling the wound with a burning glow. Merlin leans forward as much as he can, resting his own weight on the wall and on Arthur. Arthur holds him gladly, muttering that he can’t wait until Merlin’s better so he can scold him for being so reckless.

Well, when Merlin figures out how the man didn’t realize he was magic, he’ll have one hell of a defense. Who knows, Arthur might get a kick out of it too.

5: Plague

At some point, Merlin thinks as he heaves another stone out of the way, we’re going to stop coming across cursed objects. There has to be a limit. There just has to be.

This one has a plague attached to it because of course, it does. The entire citadel had been overrun with shadow demons that could only be seen by one person, everyone jumping at every little sound, unsure of whether they were seeing real people or the figments of their nightmares. What made things far worse is that some of them could be seen by multiple people and some of them couldn’t. So you could never be sure whether people would believe what you were seeing.

Someone called this the Plague of the Shadow Cat.

Gaius had gone into the books, trying to figure out a solution. Turns out the only way was to go to this cavern out in the middle of nowhere and destroy these four totems that allowed the Shadow Cat passage, in order to break the curse. The problem was that the cavern was in the middle of a massive forest that no one wanted to go close to.

Merlin had sighed and packed his bags.

As it turns out, the forest was designed to keep people out of it—reasonable—and used magic to twist someone’s fears to keep them at bay. You know what Merlin has? Magic.

It was easier than it would’ve been for anyone else, surely, which is good. What isn’t good is that Merlin still has to survive going through this massive forest. He’s had enough of dried meat and berries for a long time, thank you very much.

After about a day or two of walking and not getting lost, he’s just being thorough, he reaches the entrance of the cavern. It’s piled high with rocks from what looks like a collapse, and starts trying to get them out of the way. Unfortunately, most of his magic is going to keeping the nightmares at bay, meaning he can’t really risk using it to get these stones out of his way lest he let the nightmares in.

He’s had enough nightmares for a lifetime already.

He grunts as he heaves another one out of the way. Honestly. Is there a checklist he can look at with all the cursed objects in the world? They’ve got to be at least halfway done at this point, come on. It’s been years.

At last, he manages to get the stones out of the way and ventures into the cavern. Around the twists and turns he reaches the center, seeing the four totems. He snaps his fingers to create a light, peering at each one. It seems as if he’s just going to have to disenchant them. Well, that won’t be too hard.

And…it isn’t. Huh. That’s a little anti-climactic.

He’s sure if he had to battle his way past his greatest fears and the Shadow Cat was actually here fighting him, this would be a lot harder. But, it’s not, so here he is, all done. Now he just has to get back through the forest. Ugh.

Merlin rides back into Camelot to see the people in the streets, happy, content, not afraid. He smiles, letting their joy wash some of the forests off of him. He slides off Cara and puts her away, wiping her down and giving her as many treats as the stable master will let him. He makes it back inside, to Gaius’s chambers, ready to throw open the door triumphantly and announce he’s fixed it!

The second he opens it to see Gwen and Arthur he freezes.

“…hello.”

“Hello, Merlin,” Arthur says softly, and oh shit he’s in trouble, “did you travel well?”

“A little damp, if I’m being…” He trails off when Arthur shoots him a look. “Yes. I did.”

Arthur nods sharply, leaning against the table and folding his arms.

“The curse is broken,” he tries, letting the door shut behind him, “and I don’t think it’ll ever come back.”

“That’s good, Merlin,” Arthur says in a tone of voice that suggests anything but, “that’s very good.”

Merlin nods hesitantly, glancing at Gwen. Gwen doesn’t look back at him, her eyes fixed on the vase of flowers in front of her. She withdraws one and holds it gently in her hands, turning toward Merlin, expressionless. Merlin fights the urge to flinch as she finally looks up at him.

“Do you know,” she says and this time Merlin does flinch, Gwen’s never sounded that cold before, “what happened the last time you vanished without telling us?”

Merlin’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach.

Oh.

Oh, no.

“I’m sorry,” he says, starting forward, “I didn’t realize—I—“

“No, Merlin,” Gwen says, still cold, “you don’t realize.”

“We trust you, Merlin,” Arthur continues, “but that doesn’t mean that you can just leave, in the middle of a plague, on a mission that could get you killed without saying goodbye.”

“You don’t get to decide that it’s worth it,” Gwen says before Merlin can interrupt, “and you certainly don’t get to decide that we don’t deserve a chance to say goodbye.”

Merlin deflates, their words striking his chest with such ferocity that for a moment, he wonders if this is the fear he’s meant to face. “I’m…I’m sorry, I just…I knew I could do it.”

He closes his eyes. “I have to protect Camelot, protect you.”

“We know, Merlin,” Gwen says, her voice finally softening just a little, “but you don’t realize that we have to protect you too.”

Arthur walks forward, lifting Merlin’s chin. Merlin stares at him, desperately wanting Arthur to smile. Something.

“You’re the most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth,” Arthur says instead, “but you’re still our Merlin. So we worry.”

“I know.”

“So,” Arthur says, giving him a gentle nudge, “don’t do that.”

“You may be nearly immortal, but we’re not,” Gwen adds, coming over to take his hand too, “and you will give us more reason to stress than any of the things you stop put together.”

Merlin looks back and forth between the two of them. “So you’re not…angry?”

“Oh, of course we are.”

Merlin winces, only for Arthur to pull him into a tight hug, his head tucking over Merlin’s shoulder.

“Completely furious,” he murmurs, nuzzling into Merlin’s neck, “aren’t we, Gwen?”

“Absolutely.” Merlin feels Gwen wrap her arms around him as well. “Totally and utterly furious.”

Merlin wriggles halfheartedly in their grasp. “I’m not getting out of this anytime soon, am I?”

“No. This is your punishment. Stay put.”

“…fine.”

+1: Cold

“No, Arthur,” Merlin grunts, shoving the prat back into bed, “stay, I will get you the soup.”

Arthur pouts, looking every bit a sad golden puppy in his read blanket as Merlin bustles about the room. “I can stand, Merlin.”

“No, you can’t, you’re sick. Now shush and eat.”

From the other room comes a sneeze that is far too close to the door.

“Gwen, you’d better be in bed when I come in there!”

He hears the quick pitter-patter of footsteps as he crosses the room to the other chambers, hands on his hips as Gwen glances up, guiltily letting the covers drop on top of her.

“I’m in bed,” she says, holding up her hands, “see?”

“Yes, I can see,” Merlin huffs, “but you have to stay there. You’re sick.”

“It’s just a cold, Merlin, I’m—I’m—“

Gwen is cut off by another spectacular sneeze.

“…handkerchief?”

Merlin rolls his eyes and offers her one, watching as she blows her nose and shakes out her curls. If Arthur’s the puppy, she’s the kitten, startling herself with the force of her own sneezes.

“What were you so desperate to get out of bed for?”

“The book on my desk,” Gwen mumbles, reaching for it, “I wanted to—“

“Keep working.”

“No!” At Merlin’s knowing look, she makes a face. “…maybe.”

Merlin sighs. “I will get you a book, but you promised you wouldn’t try to work like this.”

“But I’m fine.”

“Yes, and I notice your sneezes didn’t interrupt you this time.”

“Merlin, I am alright.”

“Yes, so let’s have you stay in bed and rest until you’re better, hmm?”

He hears a clang from the other room. He narrows his eyes at Gwen who blinks innocently at him. Without breaking eye contact, he waves his hand.

“Hey!”

“Get your arse back in bed, sire.”

“I’m fine, Merlin.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows at Gwen. “Will you stay while I get your husband back in bed, please?”

“…if you bring me the book on the desk, I will.”

Merlin glances over and waves his hand. Gwen’s poetry book—not her work book—flies into his hand and he gives it to her.

“All yours.”

“Merlin, that’s not—“

“You surely weren’t trying to work were you?” He raises his eyebrows. “Because that would be a bad idea.”

Gwen pops open the book and buries her nose in it. “…thank you, Merlin.”

“You are most welcome. Now you,” he announces, striding back to see Arthur trying to open the now magically locked door, “will go back to bed.”

“Gaius said we were fine, Merlin,” Arthur pouts, “so we can go.”

“Gaius also said that I was in charge, so you’ll go back to bed.”

“Well, I’m the King.”

“And I’m the Court Sorcerer.” Merlin lifts his hand, letting a little of his magic swirl around his hand. “Which means you should get back in bed.”

“Threatening a king is treason, Merlin.”

“Yes, yes, and I’m sure the knights would be thrilled,” Merlin replies dryly, shooing Arthur back to bed, “now you will stay put.”

He doesn’t quite swaddle Arthur in the blanket but it is a close thing. Arthur just grumbles a little, reaching out and grabbing Merlin’s tunic and dragging him down onto the bed too. “Then you stay.”

“I have to get your medicine.”

“Have the guards do it.” Arthur snuggles into his tunic. “You stay.”

Merlin resigns himself to his fate, curling around his king. Arthur rumbles happily, nuzzling into Merlin’s neck.

“That’s the last time I let you two go out for picnics in the moonlight,” Merlin grumbles to himself, “look at what’s happened to you.”

“Now you know how we feel,” Arthur mumbles sleepily.

“You realize that we are now even for all of the things I’ve done, then.”

“Oh, no. Not even close.”

“Shut up and go to sleep, sire.”

#merlin #merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merthur #merthur fic #gwen #arthur pendragon #fic #dragonbabbles

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kissjane · 4 years

Text

DELAYED DATE / Short(ish) fic

#12 from this prompt list.

TW / Mental illness, mention of suicide (but no actual attempt)

We dated in high school but then you moved away but now you’re back in town

“Have you guys heard?”

Basile came running towards them, ten minutes late for the gang’s weekly pizza night. As soon as he was near enough, he came to a skidding halt, bent double, his hands on his knees, his face red and ruddy, taking in gulps of oxygen while he tried to tell them his big news.

“Daphné told me, she heard from Imane, who had it from Sofiane, so that must mean it’s true, because obviously Sofiane would not just make something like that up, would he? Anyway, so Daphné heard it this morning when the girls went all shopping together, and she came over to my place to tell me just as I was about to leave, so that’s why I’m late, sorry about that, guys, have you ordered yet? You remembered to leave off the mushrooms on mine, right? Anyway, so what do you think about it, huh?”

He looked around expectantly.

“Baz, my man,” Arthur said, shaking his head fondly but exasperatedly, “why don’t you sit down first, and then tell us this piece of bombshell gossip Daphné thought was more important than pizza with your friends.”

Basile did as suggested, and then looked around again with aplomb, eager to share his news.

“Eliott is back in town!”

Silence fell, as Yann and Arthur glanced over at Lucas.

“Eliott Demaury?”, Yann asked after a long beat.

“Of course, Eliott Demaury, do we know any other Eliotts?”

Basile was so extraordinarily proud of surprising his friends with his announcement that he completely missed how Lucas suddenly had gone pale.

“We should text him, ask him if he wants to hang out again, like before!”

Lucas noticed how Yann elbowed Basile in the arm while Arthur frantically shook his head, and it made him feel bad. If the boys wanted to hang out with Eliott again, they should be able to. But Yann knew, and Arthur could probably guess, that Lucas would very much prefer not to. But whether Basile tried to set something up or not, chances were Lucas would run into Eliott at some point anyway.

“Yeah, sure,” he therefore said. Better to meet him with Yann there for emotional support, than running into him alone and when he was least expecting it. This way, he could prepare.

But not enough, it turned out, when Basile immediately took out his phone, and before anyone realized what was going on, announced gleefully, “That’s arranged! He’s coming over.”

Lucas choked on his own saliva, and a worried look appeared in Yann’s eyes, but the damage was done, and when a familiar figure walked up a few minutes later, Lucas took a big gulp of air and hoped for the best.

“Hi,” a hesitant voice came, and Lucas had to close his eyes against the memories crashing over him.

Eliott calling him late at night, his voice warm with sleep.

Eliott whispering nonsensical words in Lucas’ hair, against Lucas’ skin.

Eliott breathing out Lucas’ name into Lucas’ mouth, his lips taking on the shapes with Eliott’s.

“Hey,” he crooked, willing himself to act normally, to just greet him like an old friend he hadn’t seen in a while.

And why wouldn’t he? Of course, he had had the biggest crush on Eliott for most of the time they’d known each other, and Eliott had definitely given him the impression it had been reciprocated, until he had just disappeared – but nobody needed to know that.

Only Yann knew the full story – he had confronted Lucas one night, a few weeks after Eliott had left. Lucas had barely left his room for days, not speaking, eating only because Manon forced him. When he finally came back to school, he had been silent, withdrawn, and pale, and he snapped at the boys a couple of times for no reason. And then Yann had shown up, demanding answers, and Lucas had broken down and cried his heart out, telling his best friend about his whirlwind romance with Eliott, and the bitter taste it had left when Eliott had just packed up and left, not answering Lucas’ attempts at communication.

He would have sworn, only this morning, that he was definitely over Eliott Demaury, after three years – although maybe his glaring lack of any boyfriends in that time might suggest otherwise. Oh, sure, he’d kissed the occasional guy here and there, but nothing serious. And now, seeing Eliott, watching his grey eyes shine and his hands gesture wildly, he was forced to admit that the reason nothing ever went further was that he was the farthest thing away from being over him.

Basile was already jumping around Eliott like a young puppy, bouncing up and down, asking him how he was, what was going on, whether he was back for good, where he had been, why he had moved without notifying any of them – all in rapid-fire, without giving the older boy a chance to reply.

Finally, Eliott spoke up.

“It’s not the happiest story, but if you guys are up for it, I would like to tell you all.”

He stared straight at Lucas, and Lucas needed to turn his head, afraid of falling for Eliott all over at the slightest opportunity. He steeled himself not to believe any of his beautiful words this time, not to walk into his trap again.

But Yann nodded solemnly, and Eliott gangly sat down, folding his long limbs and hunching his shoulders.

“So, uh, I am bipolar. I don’t know if you guys know, but it’s a mental disorder…”

A silence fell. They all knew what that meant. Lucas had finally told the gang about his mom’s admission into the mental ward in their last year, and Basile had told them about his mom’s mental illness.

“We know,” Arthur said. “That sucks.”

“Uh, okay, yeah, it does. So we didn’t know at the time, but a lot of the stuff I did at my old school was due to episodes. It’s also why I failed my bac and got expelled from my other school and came to your high school. But like I said, nobody knew at the time and so, one day, I went into a manic stage and I tried to jump off a rooftop because I thought I could fly. A police agent managed to talk into me enough to get me down safely, and I got brought into the station. They called my parents, and they thought I had tried to commit suicide – which wasn’t true. I had everything to live for, and I wouldn’t want to give up –”

He looked at Lucas again. So did Yann. Both sets of eyes were trying to gauge what Lucas was thinking, feeling, but Lucas was numb.

“Anyway. They had me admitted into a psych ward near Le Havre, where they had moved to a few months earlier, that same night. I couldn’t keep my phone or anything, I couldn’t contact anybody, I –”

Again, his eyes found Lucas, pleading.

“I wanted to call you so badly, I swear, but they wouldn’t let me, and then when they finally gave me my phone back, it was weeks later, after they had diagnosed me, and I just – I thought you would be better off without me. Or that you would have forgotten me, or had moved on, and so I just… didn’t.”

Lucas saw Eliott’s eyes shine with something different now, as if he was blinking back tears. He wasn’t sure his own eyes looked any better.

It remained silent for a while. The boys looked from one to the other, unsure what was going on.

“So why are you back now, then?”, Yann asked, when nobody else made a move.

“The simple reason is that I finally got accepted into the Arts program at the University of Paris,” he answered, but his eyes still never left Lucas.

Yann nudged him with his elbow, willing him to ask the obvious reason, but Lucas was still too much in shock to do so.

In the end, it was Arthur who finally broke the heavy tension.

“And the complicated reason?”

Eliott took a deep breath.

“I had to leave something behind I never wanted to leave. Or someone, rather. Someone who I hadn’t even known all that long, but who meant everything to me. Someone who I missed every goddamn day I was out there. Who I have written thousands of texts to, and deleted them all, who I wanted to call millions of times, but never did. Someone I made so many drawings for over the years I could barely get them all to Paris with me – I just hope he gives me a chance to show them to him one day.”

“Sound like someone pretty important,” Yann said, when Eliott’s voice broke.

“The most important person I ever met,” Eliott agreed. “I loved him then, and I hate the fact that I never got to tell him, so I just hope I get to tell him now.”

“Do you – still?”, Lucas whispered. “Love him?”

Eliott nodded. “I never stopped. Please, Lucas,” he said, suddenly giving up all the pretense, beseeching him, “I swear I never meant to hurt you, it all happened so fast, and I know I am years too late, and you probably have somebody else by now, I just – I need you to believe me. I fell in love with you the first day I saw you walking the hallway at school, and I never stopped.”

Basile gasped.

“You are in love with Lucas? Our Lucas?”

“Oh, come on, Baz,” Arthur said as he stood up. “Let’s go get pizza. You coming, Yann?”

And as Basile still protested indignantly – “But I didn’t know! Lucas never said anything!” – Arthur and Yann dragged him along, the latter winking over his shoulder at Lucas.

As Basile’s voice finally died down, Lucas lifted his eyes to Eliott’s, and then dropped them to his mouth almost immediately.

“Lucas?”, Eliott said tentatively, gingerly reaching out a hand to Lucas’ shoulder.

“You drew for me?”

He didn’t know why he came up with that, after everything Eliott had said, but he was rewarded when Eliott smiled.

“Hundreds of times. Hundreds of happy hedgehogs and raccoons.”

Lucas smiled.

“Do you… I mean, maybe… If you wanted… You could come with me and I could show them to you?”

Eliott’s tone was hopeful, but cautious, and suddenly Lucas didn’t want to waste another minute. He’d pined over Eliott for years, and here he was. Nobody could predict the future, but tonight, he wasn’t going to let Eliott slip away.

“Only if I can stay the night,” he said, softly, and he laughed as Eliott’s eyes went wide and his breath hitched.

“I can’t wait until we get there to kiss you,” Eliott replied just as softly, when he was sufficiently recovered.

“Please don’t.”

And when their lips found each other again after all those years, they both knew it was going to take a while to get to the drawings – but neither of them overly minded.

#I write things #50 cliché prompts #Elu

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 108

And we are somewhat caught up! My queue has run out at least, and I’m astoundingly glad it has, because now I get to thank a bunch of people who have just detonated my inbox with love, and kept me going.

Before I get into the gratitude: If, at any point, a comment a character makes does not make sense, please let me know. Send an ask, even on anon, because I am well aware that everything in my brain does not get a chance to make it in the story (example: Charly’s triangle comment here, and the fact that Noah’s dialogue in the beginning has an actual translation…)

First, shoutouts to @charlylimph-blog, @baelpenrose, and @quantumizedinsanity for the characters in this chapter and for being very, VERY dear friends to me. A global pandemic and nationwide protests, along with a job change and a major move, have done nothing to hurt friendships that are already cross-country from each other.

Annnnd to everyone who has been blowing up my notes with likes and reblogs: @dierotenixe(hang in there! i PROMISE!), @iamverypotato,@itscryptifssil, @steadynightninja, @thepalemarcher, @feral-possums-in-the-bog, @26fancyraptors(MISSED YOU!), @werewolf2578 (we don’t talk enough, how are you!?), @experimentalspades, @odd-dream-worlds, @duchess-katala03, @pineapplewitchboi, @dark-choclat-cupcake, @littleshydragon, and all the others.

I held my breath, bracing for what I knew was coming. Nothing came after several minutes, to my surprise. I slowly lifted my head and opened my eyes, focusing on drawing deep, even breaths. Maybe he got bored and wandered off. Maybe he had mercy on me….

Yeah. And maybe Grey is making genetically modified fish that fly.

Slowly, carefully, I grabbed my fork and lifted a bite of pie to my mouth. A glance at Charly showed a serious expression, nothing given away. Damnit. I knew she could see Arthur behind me, I was hoping for a telltale giggle, or a warning glance, something. Right when a traitorous voice of reason spoke up belatedly to point out that Charly was never serious…

“You really will adopt anyone, won’t you?” Arthur asked as he came around to take the chair Jokul had just vacated.

Fuuuuuck…. Busted. “I didn’t adopt him!” I tried to argue. “I actually made a very concerted effort to avoid that!”

Unceremoniously, he snagged Charly’s pot pie, only to have his hand held at fork-point until he let go. Without even acknowledging the lunch-standoff, he leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. “You tried to ‘avoid’ it by foisting him off on Zach Khan, your… nephew, thing, and his girlfriend. Still adoption-adjacent.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to interact with him.”

“Uh huh. And how will you explain to poor Hannah that dear Ivan’s partner isn’t invited to Insert Winter Holiday dinner, hmmm?”

“I hate you.”

“Lies and deceit,” he rebutted calmly. “You adopted me first. Before anyyyyone on this ship. I daresay you’re quite fond of me.”

I scowled at him, shoving my remaining lunch in his direction. “Here, before you start poaching this direction.”

An eyebrow arched in the general direction of my fish pie. “That looks suspiciously like dairy. You wound me.” Grabbing my fork, he poked at the lumps of meat. “I would have thought you would be at least a little subtle in any assassination attempts. Have I taught you nothing?”

“Of course you taught me something,” I cooed, jokingly, while I patted his arm. “The fastest way to a man’s heart is six inches of steel through the ribs, slight upward angle. Cyanide smells like bitter almonds, so always use shortbread cookies to administer it. Three pounds of pressure will tear off a human ear, and even a three year old can bite through fingers,” I recited. “Also, the pie is dairy-free, surprisingly. The ‘cream’ is silken tofu and aquafaba, turns out.”

Charly was choking with laughter, while Arthur finally smiled at me. “See, I told you that you love me,” he gloated before scooping up a scallop and some crust. As soon as he started chewing, his expression changed from one of amusement to something strikingly similar to Mac when I flick water in his face.

“Scallops,” I explained. “I had the same reaction.”

“Heathens,” he managed around the mouthful. After he swallowed it, he gave the dish a considering look. “Not bad per se, but… There is no fish in this fish pie. What is aquafaba?”

“Chicpea juice. Usually it’s used as an egg substitute. I guess they used it for consistency here.”

Charly leaned forward, narrowly avoiding landing an elbow in her lunch. “And how can you tell that’s what’s in there?”

Glancing over at his student, Arthur shrugged. “She has a point. This,” he poked at the sauce, “looks like heavy cream.”

“Tastes kind of nutty, though,” I explained. “Anyway, enough about food. What brings you down here?”

“Galactic Core Curriculum,” he explained. “That’s the excuse anyway. Alistair - Cthulu damn his soul - told me you were eating lunch here after fifteen minutes of questioning. Tyche told me Charly was with you, so I figured lunch with you, lunch with one of my favorite students, plus I can kill two errands with one meal.” Charly stared at him like he had lost his mind, but he ignored her. “When I arrived - lo! What to my wondering eyes should appear, than a certain former cult leader harassing said friend and student! What person could resist such a temptation.” Deflating dramatically, he scowled at me. “Imagine my delight to hear you giving him relationship advice,” he intoned flatly.

“I got him to go away,” I pointed out.

“Before I managed even one strike in a highly one-sided battle of wits.“

“Mr. Farro,” Charly cut off, glaring for all she was worth. “Jokull came in peace, he leaves in peace.”

“Oh, he would have left in pieces. His ego anyway.”

“Fucking triangles, I swear,” Charly muttered, attacking her lunch with renewed violence.

“Anyway,” I forged ahead. “Jokul was here for fifteen, twenty minutes. You had your chance.”

He glanced away with a cough. “I… may have been resisting the urge to vomit.”

“Arthur.”

“Relationship advice is… not in my skillset,” he admitted. “Tell you your partner is abusive? Can spot a mile a way. Great for getting people out of bad relationships, with concierge crowbar service if necessary. Not great for saving them.”

“Crowbar? Really?”

“You know, for prying people out of bad situations?” He genuinely looked confused, so I left that one alone.

“For what it’s worth, Jokull wanted to talk to you about what he’s going through right now,” Charly added.

“Why in any galaxy…”

I had to laugh at that one. “Everyone treats him poorly,” I shrugged before giving Arthur a pointed look. “He’s having a rough time right now, feels like he has no one to talk to except Ivan, and thought you would have some insight into that kind of thing.”

“What part of this,” he gestured to himself with a fork, “implies anything remotely close to wanting people to like me and therefore actually knowing how to accomplish that.”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer,” I muttered.

Giving me a hard, thoughtful look, Arthur’s entire demeanor changed. “Ah… On a more serious note, though… yeah. I don’t get why people not liking you is a problem, but you’ve told me before it’s something that bothers you, so it’s feasible it bothers other people. I’ll make a point not to make it worse.”

Clearing my throat, I pushed the conversation on to the next topic. “You mentioned two errands earlier. One for me, one for Charly?”

“Right.” The relief to be changing topics was palpable. “For you, Councillor, Galactic Core is almost finished. Eino is already considering other ongoing-education programs, and you’re going to need to start scouting educators again. That late-twentieth through contemporary Terran history course? Big support-base, turns out.”

“You wouldn’t tell me this without a reason,” I pointed out. “And you’re a History teacher. Volunteering?”

“I want it done right,” he admitted. “The idea being bounced around isn’t for a requirement that everyone take the course. Not at the same time, anyway. History-focused educators only, approved curriculum.”

“Approved?” I asked. “By whom?”

“A committee,” he shrugged. “Eino, obviously. Xiomara, with her background - which, by the way, is ridiculous - “

“We know, we know,” Charly and I groaned.

After glancing between us for a moment, Arthur continued. “And me.”

“Why you?” I asked. “No offense, just trying to understand.”

“No offense taken, I’ll explain that part later, but I promise it’s for a legitimate reason. The point is, Eino and his committee approve the curriculum and number of slots. You and Tyche make the decisions for who is allotted where.”

“Fair point,” I conceded.

“Fine. The area of history I focused on for my Master’s degree has an important component that ties a lot together and makes revisionism harder - wait. What?” I could almost hear the gears squealing as they ground to a halt. “Did you just say yes?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“That was… disturbingly easy,” he gave me a skeptical look. When all I did was grin, he slowly turned to Charly. “As for you, I wanted to talk to you about the assignment that’s due next Friday.”

“I already turned it in,” she pointed out.

“Which is what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s a week and a half early.”

“Right….” she nodded slowly. “And I made sure it met all the criteria on the syllabus. Plus I had three different people proofread it.”

“All of which is admirable, and it would be considered a very well-done assignment,” he admitted. “If you didn’t have an extra week and a half left to make it even better.”

“Mr. Farro….”

“You aren’t in trouble, in any way shape or form,” he reassured her. “But I know you are capable of doing better than the assignment you already gave me. I wanted to offer you a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” Charly asked suspiciously. “This isn’t illegal, is it?”

“What? No…” he sputtered. “Illegal!?”

“Gotta be sure,” she nodded sincerely. I was reasonably certain she was giving him a hard time, but it was still hilarious to watch.

Shaking his head, Arthur did his best to recover. “The deal is this: if you stick with the assignment you already sent me, I’ll grade it as it stands. But. If you re-do it and hand it in on the original due date, you’ll be eligible for extra credit for your extra effort.”

“But I still get the grade on the one you already have, either way?” she asked skeptically.

“I’ve already graded it, and you won’t get a worse grade if you re-do it,” he promised.

“I’ll think about it,” she hedged carefully. “That paper was a lot of work.”

“That’s fair,” he nodded. “What if you sent me an audio recording, instead? No extra writing.”

“I can do that,” she agreed, sticking out her hand. After Arthur shook it, she glanced at the time. “Shit. I gotta go. Sophia, don’t be late back to work, okay? Tyche won’t care, but Alistair may stop letting me have extra marshmallows in my cocoa when I come by your office.”

After she left, I gave Arthur a very serious look. He tried to ignore it, but after about five solid minutes of The Squint, he caved. “For the love of… She’s smart, okay? You know, I know it. The paper she handed in a week and a half early was much more insightful than anyone else in the class. They were assigned a research paper on the underlying causes of the breakdown in relations between the Ekomari and Shalt-kri’i. Everyone focused on political ideologies, trade resources, navigational route control. Standard causes for war, from a Terran perspective. Do you know what Charly Harper wrote her paper about?”

“Food?” I asked, going out on a limb.

“So close! Cultural differences, plain and simple. Ekomari are vaguely mammalian, and their diet consists of native arthropods. Guess what Shalt-kri’i look like?”

“You’re kidding me…”

“Not even slightly. And! To add insult to injury, in a very close to literal sense, Shalt-kri’i greet each other as friends by spreading their appendages, a lot like a hug. Whereas Ekomari show aggression by… standing up on their hindmost appendages and spreading the rest to look bigger.”

“And no one caught this before?”

“Not on the Ark, no.” He spread his arms wide. “No one even considered it. Sure, the rest are good points, and they did make everything worse, more than likely, but the start? She nailed it.”

“Then why have her re-write the assignment?” I was honestly confused at this point.

“The way she wrote it, I could tell she wasn’t confident about the answer at all.” He looked about as frustrated as I had ever seen him. “You get her talking about engineering, or pranks, she knows she knows what she is talking about. I want her to know that she is just as right about this as she was about that.”

Hard to believe that this was the same man whose office I had marched into, out for a pound of flesh and the blood besides, because the same woman we were discussing left his class in tears and begged me not to make her go back. However…

“Honestly?” I ventured. “I want to hear this recording when she hands it in. I’m really curious about this.”

“You think she’ll write it?”

“Pfft,” I scoffed. “I know she will. You gave her a challenge where she can’t lose, but stands a lot to gain. I just hope you’re ready for that sound file.”

“I honestly can’t wait,” he smirked.

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#the miys #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #found family #aspec #science fiction #original science fiction #earth is space australia #humans are space fae #hfy #fiction #original fiction #my writing #apocalypse #aliens #post-apocalypse

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nextgensquad · 4 years

Text

molly weasley having more grandchildren than anyone every thought possible, and not always through ordinary means, and loving every last one of them unconditionally no matter what.

it starts with teddy: she goes over to andromeda’s house to help with food and diaper-changing and entertaining him so andromeda can get a few hours of peace. harry and ginny, once they get their own place, have him over often enough that whenever molly comes by, he treats her just like he does his own grandmother—cheery, excited, always demanding her attention. when he gets older, he takes to popping by the burrow just to steal some of her cookies and kiss her on the cheek and ask her about her day.

(andromeda tells her once, over afternoon tea, that she doesn’t know if she would have survived it, without molly and her family to help. looking at teddy, raising teddy, with his mother’s heart-shaped face and his father’s guilt and andromeda’s own grey eyes—it’s a kind of pain molly knows well. knows it every time she looks at george.)

and then bill and fleur start having kids, and victoire is the brightest bundle of joy in the weasley family for years. born premature, born on the anniversary of the worst day of molly’s life, named for the victory-that-didn’t-feel-like-a-victory—

it’s not so easy, to love the children who remind you of the one you lost. but molly does, anyway. she holds victoire close and promises she won’t ever let her go, and she does the same with louis, and with dominique, knowing that even with every hand she adds on the clock it won’t bring back the one hand that’s stopped moving.

but you keep going, that’s how it is. you keep building and growing and teaching and learning. charlie comes to her when he’s twenty-eight and tells her, very quietly, “mum, i’m gay, and i want you to meet my boyfriend,” and he doesn’t seem like he knows what to expect until molly tackles him in a hug.

children are children, and all of them are different: this is something molly knows very well. so even though charlie never has kids, she cries up a storm at his wedding, and cries harder when he introduces her to the three baby dragons that have just hatched on the reserve and tells her that they’ve named one of them ‘molly’ after her.

“there’s nobody fiercer than you, mum,” he says, laughing as she clutches the red-scaled baby dragon in her hands. “these are your newest grandchildren.”

percy takes his idea and gives her name to his daughter, when she is born as one-of-a-set, her and her sister lucy, both of them tiny and red and screaming at the world. this is the hardest molly has ever cried at a grandchild’s birth, watching her namesake cradled in percy’s arms, watching lucy cry out for her sister, thinking of two different sets of twins with red hair and freckles and the uncanny ability to always know when their other half was missing.

little molly is seven and licking cookie dough out of a bowl in the burrow’s kitchen when she stops and looks very seriously at her grandmother and asks her, “grandmum, why did you have so many kids?”

molly looks at her tiny granddaughter, with her red hair in a long ponytail and her blue eyes (like percy, like arthur) so full of dreams and questions and puzzles, and smiles before she can help herself.

“well, i had two little brothers,” she explains, a serious answer for a serious little girl. “and i loved taking care of them so much that i wanted a lot of my own children so i could take care of them, too.”

“oh.” little molly nods, her ponytail bouncing. “i get it. i don’t want lots, though. i just want me and lucy and that’s it.”

molly laughs and wipes cookie dough from little molly’s face and sends her scurrying off to find her sister soon after, thinking about molly and lucy and fabian and gideon and george and fred who could never have kids, who would have loved them, too. she thinks maybe that’s why she got to live—so she could learn to love them that much more even with a broken heart.

george and angelina aren’t married when they announce that they’re expecting a kid, and they still aren’t married when fred comes out with his beautiful dark hair and brown eyes he got straight from his father (from molly), and they still aren’t married when roxanne comes along with her long curls and the same brown eyes and sense of humor stolen straight from her uncle, so at some point molly gives up nudging them towards marriage—fred and roxanne are so much more important than a ceremony and a pretty dress, anyway.

molly still cries the day angelina moves out, because maybe some part of her had thought that getting married and having kids would help to heal the brokenness in george’s gaze and the empty spaces in his heart where fred had lived, but he sits her down and tells her softly, “it’s okay, mum, it’s okay, we love each other so much, just not the same way we once did, and she’ll still be around, we love the kids, she loves you.”

he’s right about that, because when angelina falls in love again, after she goes to her father, she brings cho chang to the burrow, almost hesitantly as if worried that molly might reject her almost-daughter-in-law and her new relationship. but molly only draws them both into a hug so tight she never wants to let them go, not angelina with her fierceness and her laughter and her unwillingness to let anybody feel lost, not cho with her silver laugh and her warm hands and her reaching for someone to hold onto after her last marriage failed.

molly weasley doesn’t turn away broken kids. she tells angelina, “i always wanted daughters, and now i have more. i could never be unhappy about that.”

cho brings her daughter over, a girl named emika with quiet eyes and a rare smile used to a house without laughter or love, used to a father who didn’t stay, and not at all used to people who will stay for anyone, regardless of where they come from or who they are. molly bakes her a fresh batch of cookies and george shows her how his latest invention works and when the upstairs bathroom explodes and louis comes storming down with neon green hair and zebra stripes, emika finally starts laughing.

the thing about the burrow is that no matter who you are, you’ll find a corner of it to call your home. and even though they’ve expanded and built rooms and sheds and treehouses, arthur’s never fixed that rackety old door and molly doesn’t even ask him to, anymore. the burrow is for everyone, no matter how lost or lonely or searching.

it’s where ron comes to tell her that hermione’s pregnant, with his hands shaking around a cup of hot chocolate, his blue eyes terrified and desperate and so full of love that it’s impossible to remember a time when he wasn’t in love with hermione. molly and arthur sit with him and promise him that he’ll be a good father and she eases his worries away with a blanket to cover him and a kiss on his forehead to send him to sleep, just like she did all those years ago before the war stole him away.

“you’ll be the best father any kid could ask for,” arthur tells him, hand on his knee, just like when ron was little. “because you’re the best son any parent could ask for.”

and later, watching ron hold little baby rose in his arms for the first time, his eyes shining with wonder and awe, molly knows that they’re right. knows that they raised their kids to do the best they can, just the way they had from the moment the first war began. that this is what they were fighting for all alone—for their son to hold his newborn daughter in his arms for the first time and fall in love all over again.

rose is an easy baby, compared to the potters. molly can’t ever forget the time ginny showed up through the fireplace, james clinging to her leg and albus screaming in her arms, lily yet unborn and kicking in her stomach, and all but collapsed in her mother’s arms, begging to know how she did it, so many times, for so many years.

“a lot of patience,” molly says with a smile, prying james from his mother’s legs so al can have her full attention. “a lot of tears. and a lot of knowing that the best is yet to come.”

ginny sighs deeply, rocking al in her arms until he starts to calm down. “what if we fuck them all up, mum? what if i can’t handle it?”

“ginny,” says molly, “you survived voldemort. you can survive motherhood. and it’s not like you’re alone.”

to prove it, she calls arthur and he shows up with hermione and angelina and audrey and they take ginny away for a day of coffee and shopping and relaxation while she and arthur deal with their two precious dark-haired grandsons until both of them are calm and fed and sleepy on the couch by the time harry comes back to pick them up.

it never really gets easier, in molly’s experience—children are children and your children will always be your children, no matter how old they get. things turn out complicated in new and different ways than they did when it was her and arthur and two boys and percy on the way and a war burning up around them.

so when percy’s marriage fractures under the pressures of his first term as minister of magic, she shows up to his suddenly-empty house and fills in the spaces where audrey had lived with lights and laughter and fresh cooking. he never figures out how to thank her—but then, percy’s never been big on that sort of thing anyway, but she knows he appreciates it because his daughter comes home for christmas holidays and hugs molly tight and whispers, “thank you for looking out for him,” and, well, little molly’s always been the best parts of percy and audrey, anyway.

and when audrey brings home a new daughter from her new marriage and lucy shows up fuming on the burrow’s doorstep, her motorcycle parked haphazardly in the front yard, molly doesn’t tell her that she’ll learn to love her new sister, or that she shouldn’t be mad at her mother for leaving and starting a new family, or that she should be more patient with her father, because that’s not what lucy came to hear. so instead she makes lucy’s favorite spicy noodles and they sit in the living room and lucy vents about how annoying her new sister is until arthur comes home and laughs and they set up ginny’s old bedroom for lucy to sleep in.

all children are different, and this above all else is what molly knows better than anything. so when lucy takes the divorce and the remarriage and her new french step-sister and turns it all into reckless energy that she burns across the skies by stealing arthur’s old ford anglia, she tells percy not to punish her, not to tear her down when she just wants to fly. she lets lucy stay that summer at the burrow, where she never has to run into audrey and her new family if she doesn’t want to, even though her sister molly is taking the brunt of the drama and the tabloid gossip with as much grace as she can manage, and she doesn’t make lucy answer the door when audrey turns up at the burrow’s doorstep and asks to see her daughter.

“i know she doesn’t want to see me,” says audrey with a bone-deep sigh, too used to her daughter acting out and shutting people out and burning until everyone around her is on fire. “will you at least meet clea? i know she’s not really part of the family—”

molly knows lucy is listening from the stairs, but she says it anyway: “audrey, you will always be part of our family. and all your daughters are my granddaughters.”

audrey, who comes from a cold, glittering pureblood family that’s still never learned to treat its daughters as anything but coat hangers for pretty dresses and wedding rings, smiles the small, unsure smile of a woman still learning how love works, even after two marriages and three daughters.

molly doesn’t have to do much to persuade lucy, after that; the two of them go with audrey, lucy sullen and quiet, to meet her step-daughter clea in a coffee shop in diagon alley, and even though clea is french and snotty and tries her hardest to look down her nose at her new step-sister, she still laughs in surprise when lucy tells the story of how she stole her grandfather’s car and flew all the way to ireland before anyone caught up with her, and audrey doesn’t even say anything disapproving, so molly thinks it’s been a success.

clea shows up to the burrow for family get-togethers and potlucks more often than not; she and emika and teddy three different versions of outsiders. teddy barrels his way into the heart of the family, positive and delighted in his place in it; emika speaks quietly with fred, ever-unsure what to do with her step-siblings but slowly getting better at it; and clea picks up a conversation in french between victoire and fleur and carves out a place there even with lucy still avoiding her as much as possible.

of all three of her almost-grandchildren, she doesn’t expect teddy to be the one to disappear from their weekend brunches.

something happens—and she wishes she knew what it was, but it seems that nobody does, not even bill and fleur or harry and ginny—and in the middle of planning their wedding, teddy and victoire break up. it shouldn’t be the end of the world, even though molly had always thought they would end up together, even though they had been dating so long, and she knows that nobody would ever exile teddy just for a break-up, not even dominique or louis, but he seems to take the decision out of their hands when he stops showing up.

“she hasn’t told you why?” she asks fleur over their weekly tea together, watching her daughter-in-law’s face draw down as she thinks about the break-up that split their family. “you don’t think he was cheating, do you?”

fleur scoffs. “not teddy. ‘e would never—i asked victoire and she said eet wasn’t anything like that. she said eet wasn’t anything any of us could understand. i told her, we have all had relationships that did not work out but…”

“every child always thinks their pain is completely unique,” molly says with a sad smile. “maybe it is.”

“if she would tell me, we could help,” says fleur, frustrated. “she eez not seeing the bigger picture—the family—”

“do you remember,” says molly suddenly, “how i didn’t want you and bill to get married at all?”

fleur blinks at her. “of course.”

“maybe you wanting her and teddy to get married is… sort of the same thing.”

fleur sighs. “but he eez good for her—and good to her. we all know this. you can’t fall out of love in a month.”

“love mattered a great deal to us, when everything in our world was about war and death and hate,” molly says thoughtfully. “maybe it just looks different without all that above their heads.”

maybe, she thinks but doesn’t say, victoire still hasn’t found what she’s looking for, and maybe it’s harder to find it with the sun of a victorious world always beating down on your shoulders. maybe it’s hard to know what you want when your parents are legends, war heroes and curse-breakers and good and strong and kind. molly is so proud of the children she’s raised, of the people they’ve married, but she can’t imagine how it must feel on the other side of the family, growing up looking into the sun so long it blinds you.

she sends victoire a care package, and then sends teddy one, too. children are children, and they all need love and support, whether they’re willing to admit it or not.

things keep changing—they always do, whether you want them to or not, this she has learned—and even as she gets older and her grandchildren grow, she finds very little can prepare her for watching these children become who they are, shining in the sunrise of a world without the dark lord, but still with enough shadows of their own. she gives advice as she can, to the ones who bother to come to the burrow—little molly and lucy, now out of hogwarts, stop by the most often, and there’s albus, who comes by to talk to his grandfather about muggle electronics, and sometimes even lily, who will only allow her grandparents to see her without that burnished glory she projects like wildfire to everyone else.

it’s james who rarely visits. james, growing up as the eldest son of harry potter and ginny weasley, james with the endless gryffindor fire that burns everyone around him and then burns him out with it, james who spends most of his days out in a club or on the streets and rarely comes home even when the papers publish photographs of him with a black eye or swollen lip after every dangerous weekend. molly reads all the papers and keeps salves and ointments and practices all the healing charms she knows by heart, just in case he ends up on her doorstep the way he did when he was little and had skinned his knee in the backyard.

he does, though—just once the entire year he is twenty-one, and not with any injuries from once. his face is bleak, his gaze terrified, but he doesn’t smell of alcohol or drugs or anything.

“i’m sorry,” he says when she invites him in to sit on the couch, his hands shaking in his leather jacket. “i wanted to tell you before it got out—abby’s pregnant.”

for a second, molly has to think on who he’s talking about, so distracted by the miserable way her grandson looks, by the way he seems to be expecting her and arthur to start yelling at him. abigail longbottom is another one of the regular invitees to the weasley family gathering, her and her brother jake growing up enmeshed in their family, playing with the potters and their cousins until the skies grew dark in the days of their childhood. molly’s always liked her.

“you’re having a baby?” arthur asks, always clarifying before jumping to conclusions, even as his hand reaches over the couch to take hers and clutch it. they have wanted grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, just as much as anyone else, but james looks so young, so lonely, so wrecked sitting there on their couch, too young to have a child.

“i am. i mean, she is. she’s keeping it. i don’t know if… if she’ll let me be a part of this.” james swallows, his gaze faraway and aching. “but… i’m sure she’ll want you to be a part of it—the baby’s life. i just…”

he drops his head down into his hands and molly moves in a flash to take him into her arms and hold him as he cries. she hasn’t seen james cry in a long time, not since he was twelve and broke his arm in a family quidditch match, and suddenly, all these years later, he is twelve again, sniffling and clinging to her arms as if she can heal everything with a hug.

she wishes she could. arthur goes quietly into the kitchen to make james a cup of hot chocolate and pulls out all the candy that he would have loved when he was twelve, and then they all sit in the kitchen, eating chocolates, and james tells them all about how it happened, why it happened, and how much he desperately wants the kid even though he knows it’s not a good idea at all.

“i mean, shit—sorry—” he hiccups on his second mug of hot chocolate, still unused to swearing in front of his grandparents. “she’s nineteen and i feel terrible. and i’m barely older and it still feels like… i don’t know. it just sucks because if it was vic and teddy having a kid then everything would be fine, but it’s me.”

“james,” says arthur gently, “no matter what kind of a father you are, that child will never have anything less than complete and utter love in their life. that’s not something you need to worry about. it doesn’t matter that it’s you and abby instead of victoire and teddy.”

james doesn’t really look like he believes him, but he nods anyway. “you know, you guys are a lot nicer about this than mum and dad were.”

molly shares a smile with arthur. “well, we have some experience with having kids a little young that your parents don’t.”

james frowns at her. “really?”

“we were twenty-two when your uncle bill was born,” arthur agrees. “it was terrifying then, no matter how much we loved him, and i’m sure it would be terrifying now. you’re never really prepared for children, even when you think you are.”

“everyone feels like they’re the worst parent in the world,” molly says, “and truthfully, nobody can be the best. all that matters is trying.”

she sees it in james’ face the first time he holds his newborn daughter—the same look his father had, that arthur had, that they all have when they see their child for the first time—that he does finally believe them about being a parent. it’s always harder than it seems, harder than it looks, and harder than anybody would believe without becoming one themselves.

“but it’s worth it, right?” ginny had asked her, the first night she had found out she was pregnant with james, her voice very small and her arms cradling around her still-flat stomach, as if terrified something might burst out of there before she was ready.

molly had smiled and tucked her daughter’s hair behind her ear and said, “it’s always, always worth it.”

#hp fic #hp next gen #hp next generation #molly weasley #teddy lupin #and... pretty much everyone else too #ours #writing #pearl #this....got ahead of me somehow

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cowboisadness · 3 years

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Hang Em’ High {FemOC x Arthur Morgan} Chapter 8

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC

Summary: Belle Hawthorne is high society looking to escape her mean husband. A robbery by the Van Der Linde gang could be her chance. Can she escape his cluches and possibly discover what love should feel like?

.....

Today it was back to doing the ever so mundane chores around camp, conversing with the other girls whenever we got the chance and when we knew Grimshaw wouldn't scold us for not doing work. Dutch was the leader of the gang, but Grimshaw kept everything running, kept everyone in line when doing the daily duties within the camp. God forbid anyone that crossed her, whether she thought us girls were taking our sweet time or the guys lacking in keeping up with their personal hygiene, she wouldn't go easy, even on her good days. Thankfully I haven't been on the receiving end of her fury, well, not yet anyway. When supper was ready in the evening and all chores were done, I thought it best to take a bowl over to the poor boy they had tied to a tree when I arrived. Kieran, his name is, apparently one of the O’Driscoll boys. Although he didn't seem like the type that would run with them, given the information I had been given regarding the rival gang. Kieran was now able to wander the camp, under the watchful eye of the others that saw him with nothing but contempt. He wouldn't get fed if it wasn't for us ladies. He kept himself busy with the horses most of the time, they wouldn't hurt or insult him after all. I approached him with a hot bowl, disturbing him as he brushed through The Counts mane, the beautiful white Arabian belonging to Dutch. Handing him the bowl he looked to me with hesitation, a few seconds passing by before he reached out to retrieve it.

“Don't worry, me nor the stew bite.”

“Thank you, Miss…”

“Bella”

“...Miss Bella. I hope you won't get a tellin’ for giving me this. Some of the other girls have.”

“Ya gotta eat. Besides, I'd give them a tallin’ back if they do.” He smiles slightly, finally taking a spoonful of the stew.

“How's my girl doing then?” walking over to my mare, stroking her nose and getting a playful nudge to the palm.

“She's a bit feisty sometimes but she's a good one. Does she have a name?”

A name. There's a lot of meaning in a name. I'd need something strong, something steadfast and with purpose. She's feisty but that means she knows what she wants. She seems the type that will set her mind to something and be determined to get it, like a hunter. Looking up to the darkening sky, clouds clearing to present itself with the most beautiful array of blues and blacks, adorned with tiny kisses of light.

“Orion.” I say with a point, keeping my eyes on the constellations above. “After the hunter in the stars. Yeah, I quite like that.” I look back down as she nudges me again, looking for any sweet treats I may have on my person. I give her another rub on her nose before turning back, giving a bye to Kieran as I make my way back to the stew pot.

After everyone had ate and the sun had fallen beyond the horizon most of the camp gathered around the main fire to share a few drinks. Arthur and Lenny decided to head into town for a few drinks instead, promising they will be back in a few hours and to keep out of trouble. Hosea gave them a doubtful look, reminding them that they were laying low. Pearson shared a few stories of his time in the Navy, everyone listening as they drank. Abigail soon retired to bed with a tired Jack in her arms, bidding everyone a goodnight. Couple of bottles later, Hosea was now the one to share stories. Ones of gripping heists and hilarious cons they carried out many years ago before the gang grew into what it is today. Laughter shared amongst everyone over the fire, rising into the air with the smoke. Before the alcohol could hit me in a way I would regret in the morning, I left the others to their merry stories and drunken tales. Curling up on the bedroll I let the distant chatter lull me to sleep.

…

By Morning I was woken by Karen, snaking me side to side, willing to awake with a loud whisper.

“What's wrong Karen?”

“Them two idiots must have got themselves locked up last night. Come with me to get them out?”

“Why me?” Sitting up I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and looked to her, confused.

“The others are too hungover or are still asleep.”

“Okay, just give me a moment to get sorted.”

“Wear something instead of pants.” She ordered before walking off.

I did as instructed, donning a simple collared white blouse, sleeves stopping just past the elbow. Blue skirt and blank belt to tie it all together as one. Meeting Karen at the horses we decided to take Arthurs and Lennys horses, given that they chose to walk to Valentine last night.

It didn't take long to get to Valentine, the town quickly waking up and going about its usual business. Men tending to their livestock and other men drunkenly stumbling home, or wherever they went to sleep off the alcohol. We made our way through the mud ridden street, stopping outside the Saloon to hitch the horses.

“You a good lier?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don't want to risk the Sheriff or a Deputy noticing me. You go in and pretend you're a close relative of those fools. Flash that smile and flutter your eyes at the guy. Persuade him to release them for little to no cost.”

“Would he really fall for that?”

She began to ponder for a few seconds, thinking of something that will be easy and would with minimum effort“Do you have a ring?”

“No. I sold mine.”

“Here, take one of mine. Play as a disgruntled wife that is getting sick of her husbands' shenanigans. Sweet talk him.” She said, removing one of her rings, a dainty gold band and handing it out towards me,

“You mean flirt with a lawman?”

“Sure. He's a man it will be easy.” She could see I wasn’t unsure about this whole thing. Sure I know how to lie. Quickly learning a few weeks after being married then keeping it up for months. It was one thing to lie to that bastard and random people that didn't matter, but to lie to the law, well, that's something I didn't want to involve myself with.

“If he somehow finds out who they are and the bounties they have it will take a lot more than this to get them out.” With that I took the ring from her that was still in her outstretched hand, fitting it snugly onto my finger before turning away towards the Sheriff's building, leaving Karen with the horses and without another word. Seems like lying to the law is just something I'm going to have to get used to. Lucky for them I'm a good liar.

Standing outside of the door I inhaled deeply, putting on a slight scowl and pushing the door open. I didn't pay any mind to the man sat at the desk, instead making my way to the cells. Arthur and Lenny were in separate cells, the latter awake and looking very sorry for himself. He looked up, blinking a few times to make sure he was seeing correctly, shaking my head at him before turning to the man that was trying to get my attention while still sat at the desk. It wasn't the Sheriff, just a Deputy, a young one. This should be easy.

“I can only apologise for whatever trouble my husband and his friend caused Deputy”

“A pair of drunken fools starting fights they are.”

“It seems my husband won't accept that he has a low tolerance when it comes to whiskey. I hope it wasn't too serious.”

“We have a low tolerance for violent drunkards in this town miss.”

Placing my hands onto the table and swaying myself towards him slightly to minimise the distance between us and ignoring the chatter behind me as I looked down at my hands “I’m really at the end of my whits with him. Why couldn't I have married a decent man? I hope he didn't cause you trouble when bringing him in. Although... he might be a big oaf I’m sure you would have no trouble against him”

“Well, it didn't take much to fling him in that cell.”

“I bet you're used to more dangerous and violent bad guys huh? Your girl must get so worried knowing what sort of monsters you have to deal with.”

“I have no girl to call my own miss.”

Moving to sit partly on the desk, giving him a delicate smile and keeping my attention on the boy below. “Really? Any woman would be lucky to have a brave, principled man like yourself. Instead of a fool that spends all their money on drink and can't even handle it. A man that can take care of a town knows how to take care of his lady.”

“Bella” Arthur calls

“I’m not speaking with you!” I didn't look away, keeping my eyes locked with the young deputy, faintly trembling in his seat. Leaning over towards him, now peering at him through my lashes and lowering my voice for just him to hear. “I promise these idiots won't be any more trouble for you, But if they even cause the slightest disturbance...I'm willing to be punished personally for it.” I smirked at him then licking my lips and leaning over his desk to the point I could feel his quickening breaths on my face. He was frozen in place, looking to me like a cornered doe. Without faltering eye contact I shot him a wink, breaking him out of the trance. Breaking away from the intense eye contact he fumbled with the keys attached to his belt.

The keys rattled in his hands faintly as he went to open the cell doors. I blessed the stars that it was a naive deputy I faced instead of the Sheriff. It could have gone completely different and not as smoothly if it had been.

Leading the boys outside without a word to them, I turned to the Deputy as I approached the door, fiddling with the knob so plainly with delicate fingers. “Thank you. I will remember to hopefully repay you some time.” Shooting him a wink I walked out the door before he could say a word.

What a sad site they were. Lenny vomited on himself once outside and Arthur was sat leaning against the post. Both unable to open their eyes properly as the morning light burned and made their heads throb.

“I’m just gunna have a little sit-down and...feel sorry for myself”

“Oh no you ain't. You and a few others have to go rescue that Sean fella.” He grumbled as I stood beside him, waving off Lenny who had been found by Karen, both of them setting off back to camp.

“What happened last night?”

“Don't remember.”

I huffed at that. Alcohol does one hell of a job on folk. I pulled him up, steadying him on his feet before practically dragging him to his horse, deciding that I would sit up front to take us back to camp.

Javier, Charles, Arthur and Trelawny were the ones going to rescue Sean, who was being held at Blackwater. Everyone was on edge for their safe arrival, none of them wanted to be anywhere near Blackwater right now. It was late afternoon before the beat of hooves could be heard coming up the path. Javier had returned with a loud Irishman at his back. The camp ran to meet the two, thankful for Sean's safe return and Sean replied with a shout about needing a strong drink or five. The camp's whole demeanour was flipped on its head in a matter of minutes with crates of beer and whiskey being pulled from Pearson's wagon and placed around the fire. It was time to celebrate. Arthur and Charles arrived as the first bottles were being passed around and opened, everyone collecting around the fire. Dutch gave some words on how happy he was that Sean was finally back and safe and everyone was soon talking merrily. Javier retrieving his guitar and some joined in on his song. Sean shared stories of his capture, though obviously exaggerated. Hands waving in the air for dramatic effect. Karen sat closely by his side. Arthur came to sit in the space between me and Sadie with a bottle in hand. Looking between him and the bottle he just shrugged. It seemed the rescue mission helped him get over his hangover.

“And who is this lady?” Sean bellowed as he approached.

“Annabelle, but you can call me Bella.” I smiled up at him, raising my hand for him to shake,

“Well, well. It is my pleasure miss Bella” He took my hand but instead of shaking it as I expected he pressed his lips to the back. “Where did they find you then?”

“Long story. Arthur helped me escape a less than ideal situation I would say”

“Swept up another high society lady hey Arthur”

“Shut it, Sean” Sean raised his hands in mock defeat at that.

“Just jesting Englishman. But I would love to know how you do it. I'd say she's prettier than the last. Hopefully a bit wilder.” Sean began to back away, hands still in the air but with a grin on his face.

“I wish I left you hanging from that tree.”

I couldn't help but laugh slightly, pursing my lips together to stop as Arthur looked at me with disgust that I would even entertain the Irishman.

The drinks went quickly throughout the night. Everyone singing, Uncle breaking out his banjo and others got up to dance. The alcohol was starting to take effect on me too, despite telling myself to only have a couple. It was obvious that everyone needed this. Needed some good news and a reason to celebrate.

Abigail and Jack were the first to leave even though Jack was very much awake and enjoying the liveliness around him. As the moon got higher and the night was truly set, one by one people stumbled to their tents or bedrolls. Leaving only a handful of us around the fire, sharing stories of alcohol-fueled shenanigans they got up to over the years. I had none to contribute, seeing as this was the drunkest I have ever been. I was dizzy and euphoric at the same time. My balance was unsteady and I felt like I was spinning even while seated. My body felt lighter, more at ease. Any worries I had were gone and buried. Living in the joy of the moment. Arthur and Sadie and I sat in front of the log instead of on it as we all progressively got more inebriated. The log keeping us upright and more stable. The fire before us began to die down as the celebrations did, the rest going to bed. Just Arthur and I left around the dying fire, still supping what little was left of the bottles in our hands. I didn't want to sleep, I wanted the celebrations and singing to carry on till daybreak. But my eyes started to feel heavy.

“How was the rescue?” I slurred, turning to Arthur

“Fine. Didn’t die.” His accent even thicker thanks to his drunken state.

I exhaled a laugh and a loud snort followed. My hand shot up to cover my mouth, basically slapping myself in the face, eyes wide at the noise I just made. Arthur looked at me wide-eyed also, equally taken back. He began to laugh, I soon followed. The two of us giggling into the night. My eyes were getting heavier and heavier by the minute, along with my body quickly losing its feather-light feeling. Moving myself I leaned into the log, resting my head on my hands upon it. In my current state, this was more comfort than any plush bed could provide. Before I knew it my eyes were closed, sleep overtaking me.

#hang em high #hang em high fic #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemtion 2 #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan x oc #rdr2 fic

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Andy Weir on Writing a Buddy Cop Story… Set in Space

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

Andy Weir is all about survival. His first novel, The Martian, centers upon the attempts of astronaut Mark Watney to survive long enough on the Red Planet for a rescue mission to reach him. His sophomore book, Artemis, is a fast-paced survival story of a different kind, set among various criminal factions on the Moon. His latest novel, Project Hail Mary, raises the stakes even higher— it’s about the survival of our entire species, and all life on Earth.

In Project Hail Mary, the Sun is getting dimmer, thanks to a mysterious substance known as Astrophage, a type of interstellar infection. Humanity is facing a ticking ecological time bomb; unless the secret of the Astrophage can be discovered and the planet-wide cooling process reversed, it’s goodnight for life as we know it. There’s just one long shot left for humankind: send a starship to make contact with whoever – or whatever – is behind it all.

Project Hail Mary is as much a mystery novel as it is an SF survival tale. The book opens with our protagonist, Ryland Grace, waking up in a medical bay with two corpses and no memory of how he got there. What follows is a constant peeling back of layer after layer of this mystery, until finally, the truth is revealed. It’s a deeply satisfying ride, made even more so for those readers who share Weir’s obvious passion for science. Surprisingly, at its heart, Project Hail Mary is also a buddy road trip story, which kicks into high gear when Grace connects with an alien partner he names Rocky.

After bonding over a shared love of Terry Pratchett, Andy and I talked about the influences behind Project Hail Mary, and what it took to bring the world of the Astrophage to life.

Den of Geek: Project Hail Mary evokes similar feelings to the Robert A. Heinlein juveniles, and Arthur C. Clarke’s Rama books. Were those influences for you?

Andy Weir: Oh, big time. I grew up reading my dad’s science fiction collection, Heinlein and Asimov and Clarke, they’re my Holy Trinity. And yeah, that sense of optimism I feel has kind of vanished from sci-fi, and a lot of science fiction ends up being this bleak, dystopian misery-scape where a teenager doing weird stuff is the only thing that’ll save the day. I just don’t buy into that. I have a firm belief that the future is almost always better than the past. I mean, 2020 kind of sucked, we can all agree, but I would rather live through 2020 again than 1920.

Speaking of 2020, let’s talk about the Astrophage, which is basically Project Hail Mary’s nemesis. It’s a stellar virus, an infection transmitted from star to star. Did you plot the book during the Covid-19 pandemic, or was it just a fluke of timing? It seems like a very timely concept.

It does, but it’s pure coincidence. I actually finished the entire book before COVID-19 happened. This is the longest I’ve ever had a book done, but not yet published, because COVID messed with the print production pipelines. I actually finished the book in January of 2019. Astrophage was originally a technology called black matter, not a life form. It would absorb all electromagnetic radiation that hit it, and turn that energy into mass, in the form of more black matter. I thought, this is the perfect spacecraft fuel, because it mass converts. Then I thought, “Well, we have no way of creating that technology, I could not make that take place in the modern day… what if it wasn’t a technology? What if it was a life form?” Black matter takes energy and makes more black matter, but that’s kind of what life does, right? Humans take energy and make more humans out of it. That’s what we do. Cats take energy to make kittens.

It’s the ultimate double-edged sword. It has the power to wipe us out, but if we were smart enough to harness it, Astrophage could become humanity’s gateway to the stars.

That was my…kind of “shower epiphany.” I was thinking, “Oh, but we’d need to be really careful, because we wouldn’t want to let this shit get in our sun, because it would start breeding out of control. That’d be a disaster. We can’t have that.” Then I was like: “Wait a minute, disasters are where books come from. We can have that. We will have that!” Astrophage was… I can’t say handed to humanity on a silver platter, it was really more handed to humanity on a spiky, poisoned platter.

That’s how the Big Three – Heinlein, Asimov, and Clarke – saw atomic power, wasn’t it?

Yeah, they did, and they’re not wrong. I still think that in the real world, our best bet for regular interplanetary travel is going to be ion propulsion, which requires a huge amount of energy, and so that’ll be reactors. This isn’t weird, way off in the middle of nowhere, made up science; this is real stuff. Humanity has put ion propulsion craft into space and used it, but if you scale that up big enough that you can have a passenger spacecraft, then you’re going to need to scale up the energy production. So, pretty much nuclear reactors are the only way to get that much energy out of such a small amount of weight.

The novel has a very non-traditional structure, essentially starting at two different time points, and unfolding from there in tandem. Was Project Hail Mary a difficult book to plot?

It wasn’t difficult to plot once I decided to use that structure, but it was a very difficult decision to go for that structure. I hate flashbacks. I always tell aspiring writers: “Don’t use flashbacks. Nobody likes them.” One of my main problems with flashbacks is, I’ll be really invested and interested in a story that’s going on, then suddenly we’re off somewhere else. We were over here doing neat stuff, now you’re over here doing boring stuff. This is a book, it’s entertainment, not a lesson. So, flashbacks often feel to me like you’re out playing with your friends and your mom tells you to come in and clean your room.

But I realized that this story, if told linearly, would be really weird. The whole scientific mystery which leads to the creation of the Hail Mary, and then the launch, is interesting, but it’s not a book… and so the flashbacks skip over the years. There’s this scene, and then the very next flashback you see will be two years later after that. The whole book would be really disjointed. From the second act on, it’s a completely different book. And so, I couldn’t think of any way to do this other than flashbacks. I’m like, “If I neat out the backstory bit by bit so that the stories kind of converge, and I’m constantly revealing new information in the flashbacks, then the flashbacks are compelling as well,” and just had the two stories come together at the end.

If this had been poorly executed, it would have been a very difficult read, but I felt no jarring at all due to the jumping backward and forward in time. I found myself looking forward to the next flashback, then getting back to the Rocky and Ryland show. I was also delighted to find there’s a lot of humor in there.

People don’t know it when they start the book, but it’s a buddy cop movie, basically. I don’t know if you watched those road movies from the ‘40s. Bob Hope and Bing Crosby will be on the road to something. There’s a bunch of movies that start with Road to…and then a location. It’s always the same principal plot, these two guys are trying to get somewhere, and all the funky, comedic things that happen along the way. It’s kind of like that.

So, Phil Lord and Christopher Miller, the team behind The Lego Movie among many others, have been tapped to direct the Project Hail Mary Movie.

MGM bought the rights, and they bought them outright, not an option, which is neat, because it implies they’re much more serious about making the movie. Ryan Gosling is attached to play the lead, so that’s pretty cool.

Wonderful! Who’s your dream casting for Rocky, Grace’s alien partner?

I have some ideas for that, but I don’t want to give them away, because there’s been a lot of discussion on how do we portray the [alien] language situation on screen. In the book, after a while, I just start using italics to indicate what Rocky’s saying, and either Grace is looking it up on his computer, or later in the book has just learned Rocky’s language, learned how to understand what Rocky’s saying. We have an idea, and I think it’s a really solid idea. Ryan Gosling came up with it, and so I think that’s what we’re going to do. But films are so security conscious, I can’t really talk about it.

It was great talking with you, Andy, and I wish you the very best of luck with Project Hail Mary.

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You too. Bye-bye.

Project Hail Mary hits the shelves on Tuesday, May 3rd.

The post Andy Weir on Writing a Buddy Cop Story… Set in Space appeared first on Den of Geek.

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ajoblotofjunk · 4 years

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I was going through my first outline for HFoG and wow that is some wild shit. It was so different! For fun I thought I’d share some of it so you can see where it veered dramatically off course.

The first couple of chapters are the same, the first differences really start in March.

March (Yr 1) - Two weeks later in mid-March is first race - Did you declare the oil?/Of course I did, gods, Jaime, I know what I'm doing. /I saw you studying the regs again.; pit stop argument, etc.; Early pit stop, Jaime thinks they're too slow, is watching the racers pacing him, zooms off a bit too soon and Brienne is FURIOUS with him for putting them in danger, they have a huge fight and it's the first time he backs off a little and apologizes. She says 'if you do it again, I'm done.' I promise I won't. 'There has to be trust, Lannister.' 'Jaime's shorter, you know. You'd save a whole syllable. Could be critical in the pit.' She rolls her eyes. 'Fine. Jaime.'; Brienne in response makes Jaime learn how to stop exactly where he needs to; she stands in front, knowing he'll hit her if she doesn't trust him. I'll be the front jack. He makes a comment and she's like “this is serious, Jaime.” He swallows and nods by her use of his name. “Okay then. Let's practice.” He's still wounded from his team betraying him, he doesn't trust them, but he trusts Brienne. (This is all between the preseason and first race)

(Ed. note:That thing about the syllables shows up in the wedding night sex as my own personal shoutout TO MYSELF because I always loved that line and it never made it into the fic in the end and I’m an enormous dork.)

May (Yr 1) – Bronn places dye in Jaime's gloves so when he shakes hands they're blue (but Jaime laughs, he's the happiest he's been in years, he's driving loose and confident and reckless but he's winning for now); Martyn's payment comes due & almost fucks up Brienne (he's on tire duty, he is slow on the pneumatic during a practice and asks for her help and she comes over and he releases it as she's going for it and it almost breaks her wrist. It's obvious he did it purposefully and the crew swarms him, Bronn goes to get Jaime, who comes back FURIOUS and fires him; Arya joins the crew (Willem cleans up his act)

(Ed. note: I forgot Arya was supposed to join in year one. Hah.)

June has most of what ended up being in July, and July has most of what ended up being in June. Then:

August (Yr 1) – Two weeks in he shows up, middle of a hot, lazy summer; they have a great time; he drives the F1, they grow closer

(Ed. note: No sexytimes at all on Tarth. No sexytimes at all until the second year, which is one of the best changes I made.)

September (Yr 1) – Wins a race, shirt off, spray w/champagne; they kiss first time before crash ('for good luck' he says; realized he felt like he always did at the start of a race day, blood pulsing with the need for action and the roar and vibration of the engine under him); BEFORE he loses his hand, he's about ready to have sex with her on top of the car but he's got his celibacy thing and he's like “after the race”) and then he crashes the next day so their first time takes awhile. (He's glad she didn't know what he was like with two hands, he's worried he couldn't compete with that Jaime.); crash happens at Griffin's Roost end of Sept. (he hit Red before that for talking shit about Brienne; does Vargo Hoat cause the crash (Martyn gave him secret access to the info & the building w/Connington's help - oh snap)); she's watching, he takes the corner too fast and then in the second between watching live and turning to the screen, his car is flipping. She sees his car and her brother's car superimposed on each other, when she'd snuck out to see it at the impound after.

(Ed. note: The original reason they don’t get together in the first year was because Jaime had a celibacy vow during the race season that he kept as sort of a ‘good luck’ thing, which I’m super glad I dropped. Not my finest plot device. 😂)

Oct (Yr 1)– Brienne convinces Selwyn to start a team and signs Jaime based on Brienne's belief in him; She ends up driving him fast to get that feeling back. But he's a complete disaster, drinks too much and makes a fool of himself, cruel as a defense mechanism, obsessed w/Brienne but doesn't want to bring her down

(Ed. note: This was a period of time where the Arctic Monkeys’ “Do You Wanna Know” was influencing everything I was writing and I wanted him to be very sweaty and wrecked and this is also a thing I’m glad I dropped. Brynn and I actually talked about this a lot - whether Jaime being cruel to her after they’ve started getting together would be a dealbreaker; at one point he was so mean to her she just left for Tarth and that kickstarted him into wanting to get his act together, but a lot changed and so did that, thankfully)

Nov (Yr 1) – Brienne tells him the news after the World Championship when he's super down on himself and that she will be his race engineer and have Bronn as his chief mechanic because she blames herself for not paying attention (which she doesn't reveal until later); and Pod and Arya and most of the crew; she says no December break, you have to work for it. “Why?” he asks. He starts rehab. They start fixing up Selwyn's F1.

(Ed. note: Oh I forgot she surprised him with the news they were starting a racing team for him. Hah. Wow this version was SO DIFFERENT.)

Dec (Yr 1) – She surprises him by bringing in Arthur Dayne to motivate him; they get FIA to agree that he can have a modified steering wheel. Jaime has conversation with Selwyn – you have more money than you let on. 'I wanted Brienne to have a simple life.' 'Then why did you let her come with me?' 'Because you were the only one who didn't look at her like she was a freak.' Jaime is- OOF.

(Ed. note: I knew I wanted Arthur Dayne to show up, but he was playing a more active mentoring role in this version, and then once I really started getting into Jaime being left hanging alone with the ‘Kingslayer’ stuff, I was pissed at Arthur and realized it wasn’t okay for him to just show up. Heh. Also - that line is actually in the final version of HFoG, so some things do stay!)

Jan (Yr 2) – (they don't have NEARLY as much money as with Lannister Corp – look at this for ideas of how that will play out: https://us.motorsport.com/f1/news/tales-former-f1-chief-mechanic-952404/3045945/)

(Ed. Note: I did end up using a TON of the reading and research that I did throughout the story, even in the final version. Races were especially helpful for me to see the wild things that COULD happen - like Brienne coming in to pit with two flat tires. However, the Evenstar team having a much smaller budget never came in to play as much as I thought when I first started. There were some hints of it - their meager ‘cafe’ in the paddock, only having one wing at the end, not having all the extra parts teams normally would, but that article is actually pretty interesting for other ways the really shoestring budget teams have to cope. The LanCo LST was really helpful for me to get around the reality that having a car that can compete at the top level requires an absurd amount of money.)

Feb (Yr 2) - Oberyn Martell had won instead, his first championship ever, and he had not seemed happy when he took the trophy. Brienne had been touched when he'd dedicated it to Aerys and he'd had the trophy sent to Aerys' family; Rumor hinted they'd melted it down and sent that to Jaime Lannister with a note calling him 'Kingslayer,' but it seemed so medieval and cruel Brienne couldn't believe it.

(Ed. Note: Oh geeze I totally forgot about this subplot! There was a whole thing where the Targaryen’s HAD done that and Jaime held onto the trophy as sort of a self-flagellation and then he ends up throwing it away before he proposes to Brienne. Hah.)

Mar (Yr 2) – how he loses one race: https://www.dw.com/en/f1-sebastian-vettel-loses-his-cool-as-lewis-hamilton-wins-canadian-grand-prix/a-49120669

Apr (Yr 2) – he gets really frustrated and shoves all the tools off the table; “I'm not cleaning that up,” she said and walked out on him.

(Ed. note: Honestly a little sad I never kept this scene in some form. It could have been good.)

Jul (Yr 2) - (He puts the old-school lollipop sign in her hand. You tell me when you're ready.)

(Ed. note: this would have been ~symbolic~ because the lollipop signs were what the pit crew used to use to stop a driver in the pit lane and then released him back on the track, but it would have taken too much to explain and it never felt worth it.)

Aug (Yr 2) – She says he needs the rest; he wants to be with her; they have sex; she admits she's been reluctant she didn't want to curse him and he thought she just wasn't interested though he adored her. He says “you're the best luck I ever had.” They finally get together for good.

(Ed. note: I held onto that “best luck I ever had” line for far, far longer than it deserved. I mean it almost showed up in the actual proposal scene and luck had ceased to be a thematic thing between them.)

Oct (Yr 2) – He shows her the interview from their first week – this moment, and he paused right after her story, when he'd stared at her with what she recognized now as adoration; this, he said, is when I first fell in love with you. (That's how he tells her he loves her.); Bronn gets sick, she has to be Chief Mechanic again, she's terrified about Jaime crashing but she works a couple of races and everything is okay. Bronn comes back.

(Ed. note: So - this was going to be Brienne’s big emotional subplot in addition to the relationship. Her being Chief Mechanic again after she was his mechanic during his crash. That was why I ended up changing everything, because it wasn’t enough.)

Nov (Yr 2) – he wins the World Championship; they get fastest pit time record; they find each other in the crowd, Jaime pushing through the media scrum and other racers and everyone and he sees her tall and blonde and tears in her eyes and they find each other and hug and kiss and he doesn't care.

(Ed. note: He had been the more reticent one which was absurd. So many good changes from this version.)

January (again) - He retires to work with her and Selwyn on Tarth; they start a racing school with a focus on underprivileged and disabled kids, as well as girls; Brienne keeps getting calls to be a mechanic for another team (will she?? No, she loves being home mentoring girls interested in being mechanics)

(Ed. note: The karting school was there from the beginning!! But again I didn’t really understand Brienne in this initial outline, and I’m so glad I spent the time thinking more about her and what she wanted. I think the balance between them really worked to give the story so much more depth.)

#heart full of gasoline #my fic #writing life #behind the scenes #long text post #i really did forget HOW different this early version was #i'm glad i kept all these old notes

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