#but he’s truly an acts of service lad

[midnight-mismanagement]

I like how Thomas Barrow’s apology/reconciliation language is offering tea and toast. This man has footmanisms embedded so deep he can no longer escape them, but he will gladly, without resentment, use his skills to serve the people he cares about.

#been thinking about that little hesitant proffer of toast #and how he poured baxter some tea once they finally became friends #also how he offered to buy everyone (Jimmy) a bottle of pop for the fair #and remembered to bring ms patmore her bottle of lemonade for the picnic #he might resent being in service #but he’s truly an acts of service lad #thomas barrow #downton abbey

[whinlatter]

author's note | chapter 12: scarecrow🪞

thank you soooo much for reading chapter 12 of beasts. january was long for all of us, but january 1999 was especially long for the worried youngest weasley, stomping around in the highlands snow going through that all too common and deeply humiliating experience: trying to get a text back from a man. embarrassing! pls know the response to this chapter has knocked my socks off and as a thank you i have given you many unsolicited words on mirrors, weird latin names, and thestral erections. to paraphrase movie molly weasley... just what you all wanted, actually! (plus the smallest of sneak peeks at chapter 13)...

✨ spoilers for this chapter below the cut  ✨

writing notes and headcanons:

curse you/bless you chapter 12: my god this chapter took SO long to figure out. not just because of real life ramp up (cheers again for being patient legends with this), but just because i couldn’t for the life of me decide how to structure or pace it, kept writing scenes then scrapping them or deciding to keep them for later then repeating that ad infinitum. it had about five different opening scenes til i figured out how it needed to start. i know a lot of fic writers will have discovered this long before i did, but it’s such hard work when you know what the arc of a chapter should be, what the main plot points that need to happen are, where the emotional beats should come, but need to actually write a lot of building-block scenes to create that sense of pace and mood to build up to the important scenes, as well as also weaving together plot-threads that need to happen at this point in the fic in order to set up the later stages. this is how i learned that writing a service/‘turning point’ chapter (and this is, in many ways, a turning point chapter for a lot of different plots) is really really hard. part of the trouble is that to earn the relief and the dam breaking you have to write so many little scenes to create a sense of build up, and because those scenes are sort of service-scenes it’s so easy for them to be boring to write and, usually, boring to read. some realisations about what needed to happen happened way too late (there were no governors in this chapter as of like january 28th lmao. i was out on a walk and swear i stopped dead on the path when i remembered that the governors exist and i could use em to start to add the state in a more meaningful way, and especially the encroachment of the outside world on the castle.) when i posted i was feeling VERY uncertain about the chapter and just wanted it to be out so i could move on from it so honestly the response to it has been like the biggest loveliest shock ever. thanks forever lads. the gems i've been left in the comment section and the askbox will stay with me for a long time.

mirrors: this chapter is structured around the idea of the mirror (sylvia getting us going with the poem, sorry you ended up kicking off a chapter in a harry potter fanfiction mate). it begins with little ginny unable to look herself in the eye in the leaky cauldron’s talking mirror (that freaks her out - where does the mirror keep its brain?). it ends with ginny holding the two-way mirror, looking her own reflection, then watching it fade into harry’s as the two of them finally speak and connect after starting, for the first time, to be properly honest with each other. partly this is me wanting ginny to have a different way to talk to harry, something more honest that doesn’t let her cultivate or craft false versions of her days in letters but actually speak face-to-face much more honestly, and that is harry showing he gets that writing is a more loaded act for ginny than it might be for others. but what i hoped to convey was the idea that the mirror has other significance. the mirror is such an important image and device in harry potter - the mirror of erised, that shows you who you truly are and what you really want; the chipped mirror in the girls’ bathroom that leads to the chamber of secrets, where malfoy will later break down when called upon to do crimes he can’t bear to (plus hermione carrying one to look around corners with the basilisk); the foe glass mirror that shows you when your enemies are close; the two-way mirror itself, the item with the most tragic irony (a lifeline to sirius harry doesn't use to devastating consequences, the portal to malfoy manor that saves the day and costs dobby his life) etc. “what do you see when you look in the mirror?” - it's a line dumbledore first utters in PoS, and that comes back in DH, when harry is grappling with the idea that dumbledore might have lied to him about the answer (the socks are convincing nobody). it’s such a good mission statement for some of the themes that run through the series at large: who are we, really, what is the contents of our soul, who will we be (it is our choices that define us etc). harry potter as a series is also full of mirrors in its structure (see this on the books as mirror pairs), and narrative mirrors are a really important device in characterisation (most of all harry/TMR, the two orphans, but also sirius and snape, ron and draco etc). like most female characters in the series, ginny’s narrative mirror is a bit underdeveloped, but it does really seem to be bellatrix, the narration drawing them into association on multiple occasions to compare and contrast them as characters. (hermione’s is like - what, pansy? develop female characters jkr i beg). canon romantic pairings don't get to be properly fleshed out mirrors of each other, in part because they're a) all het pairings and b) het pairingswhere the female character is either excessively idealised and/or underwritten. it's fic writers' job to problematise, unpack and challenge basically errrrrr all of that. to that end, then...

hinny & mirrors: … what i wanted to suggest is that part of what makes hinny so compelling is the idea that harry and ginny at times come as close as being mirrors of each other of the canon ships, in ways that hinny writers can play with/tease out/develop as a canon coherent choice. i’ve talked previously about how we might see sirius and ginny as narrative mirrors in some ways. but i think harry and ginny are mirror characters too, to some extent. it's not just that they're extremely similar. the harry and ginny plotline as rendered in the series starts to happen the moment ginny starts being herself in ootp, and the two of them are able to see each other clearly and see themselves in the other person. there’s also a reason HBP and CoS are the mirror image books by design, harry and ginny literally paralleling each other with the prince’s book and the diary etc. even their respective journey to their own death mirrors the other person's. playing with the mirror as the item that brings harry and ginny back together after their conflict is therefore me doing a bit of a wink and a nod to this idea: harry and ginny on this journey to seeing themselves as equals, as two sides of a coin. the mirror as a device inherently invites character to see themselves clearly, and, in the case of a two-way mirror, invites the character to consider who they see themselves in, who is their reflection, who is their opposite number. ginny finding her way to a mirror where she can both see her own face and yet also call on harry's is a big moment for her starting to think about who she is, what she wants, and also start to grapple with how she feels about her own selfhood, her soul, her morality, her past. on harry’s part, him mending the mirrors and starting to use them - the mirrors he vowed he would never use with sirius, and that are so connected to his guilt over sirius’ death - is such an important step. it’s (literally) him picking up the pieces and rebuilding the mirror and his connection to another person he sees as his family, moving past his grief and guilt to try to see and be seen more clearly by the person he loves. we know when harry potter looks into the mirror of erised, he sees his family: here we have harry, having come a long way in having to confront, acknowledge, unpack and apologise for some of what he’s asked of ginny over the years, lifting up the mirror given to him by his dead family member and seeing his new family, the family of his future.

on the break up that wasn't... two months of getting the nicest most polite threats in the inbox if i broke harry and ginny up… lads. i would never! the scarecrow of the chapter title is partly a reference to ginny's fears - the inquiry, the forest - but ultimately about her relationship with harry, which she fears is in jeopardy - a fear that, ultimately, turns out to be baseless. part of my point in the hinny plot for this fic is to write a version of them that sees them growing up, and especially growing up together, not burning things down or being emotionally immature and dramatic, but doing the quiet boring grown-up work of learning to become a team, and learning it together. break-up plotlines can work beautifully (and i will always devour them), but i knew it wasn’t going to be a part of this fic as i imagined it. i wanted these two burn-it-all-down impulsive characters not to go for the nuclear option, which they might do in other relationships in their lives, and instead do something arguably harder: commit to doing thinking and reflecting and owning up to where they’ve both gone wrong along the way, because they care about what they’re building between them. there are all sorts of general writing love stories manifesto issues in this for me (people can grow and change and learn when they’re in healthy relationships, the only catalyst for growth in a relationship doesn’t have to be a breakup, female centric dramatic arcs don’t have to be break-up centred even though lots of brilliant ones are). but there are also some hinny specific points i wanted to make. the main one is that one of the things i like most about harry and ginny as a couple is that in canon their drama is largely external to their relationship. they’re just two people who properly like each other, get each other, bring out the best in each other, want to hang out and build something together, despite all they’ve been through. they're two characters that canonically just want to hang out and talk to each other, in a really nice way but also, i think, quite a healthy way too that would see them in good stead in their conflicts. post war hinny absolutely have issues and blindspots and skewed dynamics to confront. they have things to learn and they are going to fuck up (harry hurry up ya thinkin and write her back you dickhead). but it’s my view that they’re not going to have a big dramatic screaming breakup, they’re going to muddle through and figure it out, because what’s true about hinny is that it’s a ship where its two participants are emotionally mature, kind to each other, and ultimately constructive even when they aren’t always with other characters lol. that's my two cents anyway!

quidditch: this WAS in this chapter originally and then it got shunted to chapter 13. partly because this chapter had far too many plots already but also (i think) it’ll make more sense there for lots of juicy reasons. so that’s why you have that cop out line at the start about quidditch practices being on pause x because the author can’t juggle very many balls at once :)

death eater recruitment, or: why are young people drawn to dark magic? what i wanted in this chapter was to have a political flashpoint that kingsley, the politician, can use as a catalyst for the thing he really wants, which is an inquiry into hogwarts, as a microcosm of the wider wizarding world and the symbol of its future. the inquiry should happen, but, in reality, it would take political will to make it happen. it was important for me to have the catalyst for the inquiry be something that would really galvanise and piss off the DA, namely why does everyone care so much about the kids they hate getting involved in violent blood supremacist politics and not care about the victims of death eater hate. of course, the DA are understandably fuming: they suffered so much for fighting against death eaters, and they want their story of persecution and of resistance to be told. but the elephant in the room, and what's awkward in these little moments of right-wing talking points on the wireless or in the press or parents of death eater children pleading for understanding is that, actually, there is quite an important question at play here, which is, wait why would a fourteen year old kid or whatever want to go out and kill muggles? isn't that fucked up? how much agency do we give them? when is it grooming, when is it someone being actively hoodwinked (including the possibility of the imperius curse), and when is it an active choice of intent that deserves punishment? didn't all of that recruitment of young people for extremist politics happen before the war? aren't there child soldiers on both sides of this conflict, and if so, is that ok? how did that happen? these are uncomfortable questions that defy easy answers. they're questions that will sharpen and take on new life in the form of the inquiry for our protagonist and for the DA and resistance as a whole. i am so so excited to develop it let me tell ya!

the governors thinking ginny is dead: this - bleakly - is canon! in CoS, the governors think ginny has already died, that’s why they ask dumbledore to come back. (“Well, you see, Lucius,” said Dumbledore, smiling serenely, “the other eleven governors contacted me today. It was something like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, to tell the truth. They’d heard that Arthur Weasley’s daughter had been killed and wanted me back here at once...") wouldn't dumbledore correct them when ginny was out of the chamber? a question for future chapters...

what's in a name: wouldn't be hp worldbuilding without trying to come up with some good latin and/or greek names to hint at character traits. this chapter we had to stick in a load of minor new characters (human and otherwise), so to google we went. we have benignus tuft, the governor - benignus giving us benign, so someone who is at best harmless and mild, but at worst ineffective and sort of useless. we have another governor, coelamus (koelemos), minor deity or spirit, god of stupidity and foolishness (of course ginny isn't dead you idiot). for the thestrals, we know hagrid named one of them, his favourite in canon, who is called tenebrus, like tenebrous, in english, meaning shadowy or obscure (from the latin tenebrae, meaning darkness). so the other thestrals got their names on a similar theme: caligo (darkness, fog, mist) anima (in some variations, the soul), and umbra (shadow). umbra's got a little deathly bun in the oven, which is going to need a name, too - much like a certain owl...

thestrals: the worldbuilding around thestral and thestral breeding was maybe the most fun but strangest part of this chapter to write (i googled a lot of stuff about horse pregnancy and birth and saw images i do not wish to see again). i will thank david yates for giving me the idea and then go back to never thanking him ever again. in canon, we know the thestrals live in the forest and that ginny is familiar with their habits as early as ootp, long before she's able to see them ('because in case you hadn’t noticed, you and hermione are both covered in blood,' she said coolly, 'and we know hagrid lures thestrals with raw meat, so that’s probably why these two turned up in the first place…', in ootp) the only thing we know about the hogwarts' thestrals' origins is dean thomas accidentally insulting firenze ("did hagrid breed you, like the thestrals?”). this is hardly concrete knowledge or evidence, so in this chapter i wanted to play with the idea of hagrid quite readily admitting he doesn't really know how thestrals come to breed, part of these magical mysteries of the natural world that are beyond wizarding knowledge. we do know, though, that thestrals have some connection with death, especially to bearing witness and processing it. i think they're one of the most intriguing and poignant images in canon (retconning over their visibility aside, joanne), and i'm excited for the plot that explores these themes and ideas as the different plots start to wind together. (a spoilery clue for ya: hagrid mentions time periods where the thestral herd has previously grown... thank you to @saintsenara, the real unsung hero/brains behind the operation, who puts up with all of my inane questions and thinking at her and always proves enormously and generously helpful, especially in this instance with some crucial date deets). also i took out a joke about thestral erections because it wasn't the vibe and i think we can all agree that is for the best.

songs from the playlist for these chapters:

had to wap out the celtic vibes on at least one song now we're back in the castle ya feel! neko case, herself a ginger goddess, has provided too many great songs for inspo for this fic and one of my favourite's of hers is in this week's batch (the most tender place in my heart is for strangers/i know it's unkind but my own kind is much too dangerous). the hinny songs for this week are star by mitski (that love is like a star, it's gone/we just see it shining/it's traveled very far/i'll keep a leftover light burning/so you can keep looking up/isn't that worth holding on?) and comrade sweetheart by my beloved bonny light horseman/anaïs mitchell (who's going to bind up your wounds? who when the wildflowers bloom? no other lover but you... in the dusk of my days.) it's about the blessing of time, the hinny DH parting gift! hours and days and maybe years baby!

underwater by the national | tuttle's reel by lorkin o'reilly | hold on, hold on by neko case | comrade sweetheart by bonny light horseman | me & my dog by boygenius | coolest fucking bitch in town by haley blais | star by mitski

and a wee sneak peek of chapter 13... (the inevitable line now harry and ginny basically have wizard facetime):

'Gin. For fuck's sake. Stop. Dropping. The mirror. On your own face.'

#beasts #author's note #chapter 12 #as ever #me just keyboard smashing deranged hinny thoughts #and showing i've never studied latin a day in my damn life #hinny

[greta-flanveet]

at your service j.t.k. (part two)

Summary: In the middle of the Great War, the King orders that all subjects must open their homes to unhoused soldiers as an act of service to their country. Your guest, however, is an unexpected pleasantry.

Warnings: storm/bad weather, farmer!Jake, knight!Jake, fluff

Word Count: 1781

A/N: You asked for it. If you want to be added to the taglist, please let me know! Thank you so much to @way-to-go-lad for helping edit this! You’re a ray of sunshine!

Tagged: @idk-maddie @weightofdreams-gvf @greta-van-weed @way-to-go-lad

masterlist // taglist

The next morning came quicker than you expected. You woke early, dressed, and found yourself in the barn collecting eggs. As you tended to the animals, you heard the doors squeak open. The noise made you jump slightly and you almost forgot that you weren’t alone anymore.

“Sorry, Rose. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Jacob gave a polite nod of his head and you bowed slightly to him.

“Sir. Don’t worry.” You assured. “I didn’t know you were awake. I was just gathering the eggs from the hens.”

Jacob stepped closer, his shirt untied and hair unbraided. He let his eyes wander the barn before smiling to his horse. He turned his attention back to you.

“I miss doing this,” he said. “The farm life was always the best fit for me. I desire something like this again one day. Perhaps after the war, I’ll be able to find a place and settle down again. Just me, my horse, and the animals.”

It sounded perfect. The way Jacob’s eyes seemed to stare into the future made you smile. He truly was a farm boy at heart. 

“Well, you’re always welcome to stay with the animals while you’re here, sir. I’m sure they’d love the company.” Just then, the pigs started to squeal louder and you chuckled, walking over with the feed.

“Rose, let me help you, please.” 

Jacob didn’t wait for a response before lifting the bucket from your hands. You didn’t miss the way his calloused hands swept over yours or the way his body heat felt like the perfect temperature against your skin. You smiled up at him in a silent thank you and led him to the animal troughs.

You marveled as he seemed to care for the animals with confidence and ease. He was gentle with the babies, tender with the old, and warm to all. He continued to feed the animals as you finished with the chickens. When he finished, he put the bucket back, dusted his hands on his pants and smiled at you.

“Thank you, sir.” You blushed.

“Thank you, Rose. I missed that.” 

He walked back to you and took the egg basket from you and led you back to the house. Ever the gentleman, he held the door and guided you inside still holding the eggs. You began to make breakfast as Jacob sharpened his sword. The silence was comfortable between the two of you.

“Rose, do you live alone?” He asked, keeping his eyes on the metal.

“Yes, sir. My family has either passed or left the town.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He whispered. “Do you enjoy the solitude?” 

“Quite.” You chirped. “Though, it is wonderful to have some company for a change.” You added. 

Jacob chuckled and nodded, putting his sword back in his room. When he returned, breakfast was almost done. 

“Breakfast is almost done, sir.” You said, gesturing to the empty chair at the dining table.

“Shall I help you?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No, sir, that’s alright.” You said, quickly finishing. 

Jacob stalked over to his seat and made himself comfortable at the table. He started to eat and looked at you after the first bite, complimenting your skill. He sat across from you and the two of you discussed the war and his life as a knight. Jacob told you stories about his childhood on the farm. He was in charge of the chickens as a young boy, you learned. You also learned that he hated it and preferred working with the pigs and horses. He learned to ride horses young and used to take his father’s best stallion through the fields for grazing. 

“It made me feel like a King’s Knight!” He laughed. “It’s clever how that worked out.” 

When he finished all his stories, he turned his attention to you. His big brown eyes, lit with excitement from sharing, were intensely on yours. You began to tell stories of your family and your brothers and sister. He listened carefully to your words and seemed engrossed in them. He leaned forward against the wooden table as you spoke about your brothers in the King’s army. He frowned as you talked about your parents and sister. 

“Oh, I didn’t realize how lonely it must be.” He said, looking at the table. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright sir.” You said.

“Rose, you may call me Jacob.”

You blushed slightly. 

“Sir-” 

“Jacob.” He corrected firmly. Your stomach flipped at his tone.

“Jacob,” You restarted. “I’d feel so uncomfortable.

“Why?” He pressed.

“Well, I-” You stopped short. Why was a question you hadn’t considered the answer to.

Jacob smiled softly at your silence.

“I’m sorry Rose. I didn’t mean to be so forward.” He said. “If you wish to call me Sir, you may, but please don’t be afraid to call me Jacob.” 

You blushed and nodded. 

“Thank you, Jacob.”

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

The rest of the day was spent working the barn and washing clothes. You worked hard and decided to take a midday nap after tending to the animals. Gently, you were roused from your sleep at the sound of your name being called by Jacob.

“Rose?” He called from a different room.

You sat up and rubbed your eyes. Responding in a tired voice “Yes sir?” and rising to your feet.

Just as you turned out of your room, you nearly walked right into Jacob. 

“I’m so sorry, Rose!” He said, his arm darting out quickly to prevent you from falling.

“Oh!” You said, stunned for a moment. “Sir, what did you need me for?” 

“Rose, I just wanted to tell you that there are strong winds outside. The clothes on the line started to blow off. I couldn’t find you and decided to bring the basket inside myself.” 

Your heart swelled at the thoughtfulness of his actions. He must have noticed your daze and cleared his throat.

“I hope that’s alright, Rose?” 

“Quite, Sir. Thank you.” You spoke.

As you turned to leave, you felt his hand retreat from your waist. You became acutely aware that he hadn’t released you from his hold the whole time. Jacob followed you towards the basket and suddenly you registered what he told you.

“Sir-“

“Jacob.” He reminded you.

“Jacob, did you say there were winds?” 

“Yes ma’am. It seems to be getting stronger.”

You felt your eyes widen as you turned to face the farm.

“Jacob I need your help.” You pleaded with your eyes.

“Anything.” 

You wordlessly ran towards the farm, the wind nearly knocking you over as went. Jacob followed closely behind, calling for you to slow down as you ran. 

The doors to your barn were very old and often blew open during wind storms. This wouldn’t be such a big deal if your animals knew to stay in their pens. You couldn’t afford, not with company, to lose any of the animals you had. Once you made it to the doors, you turned to face the knight behind you.

“Jacob, the doors will fly open in the wind, I need you to tie them shut for me.”

“Of course. Do you have rope, ma’am?” 

The use of the word ma’am while he relayed information or followed orders made your insides turn. You wondered briefly if the same thing happened when you called him by name.

“Yes!” You said, pointing inside the barn. “I’ll show you.”

He followed quietly and watched you hunt for the sturdy rope you kept. When you finally found it, you started to drag it to Jacob.

“Please,” he said, stepping in and lifting the pile for you. “Do you like a particular knot?” He asked.

“Any,” you replied. “I just need to keep the doors shut.”

Jacob nodded and guided you out to the front of the barn, but not before checking on the animals. Once they were accounted for and the two of you were safely outside, he got to work. You marveled at the way his hands seemed to move with ease. His fingers glided between the rope and his wrist flicked just right while he created loops with his hands. He skillfully tugged the rope one final time and smiled at his work. When he turned to you for approval, you were speechless.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, a brief look of panic overtaking him.

“It’s perfect. My father never taught me to tie knots properly, so my work is always unfinished or imperfect. Thank you.” You said.

You were suppressing the urge to embrace him when a particularly hard gust of wind blew at your skirts. You blushed and apologized profusely, smoothing them down. When you looked up again, Jacob’s hair fluttered behind him and his gaze was soft but focused. A gentle rain started to fall as if to remind you to seek shelter again.

“We should go inside, Rose.” Jacob said. “It’s raining.”

“Yes.” You replied.

The two of you tried to run without slipping and finally got back to the house. Your skirts were lightly coated in mud and his boots were now stained brown. Jacob giggled at your appearance and so gave him a quizzical glance.

“What is that for?”

“I’m sorry Rose, I didn’t mean to offend you.” He nodded in apology. “We both look ridiculous right now, don’t you think?” He gestured to himself.

“I suppose we do.” You laughed, eyeing your skirts again. “Would you please get a fire going while I cook?” You requested.

“I’d be delighted.” 

The two of you worked in unison while being in separate spaces. As soon as you felt the warmth from the fire, goosebumps erupted on your arms. Jacob noticed you shiver.

“Is it alright, Rose?”

“Yes sir.” You nodded.

Dinner was spent like breakfast and lunch. You spoke about memories and family. You laughed about the way your chickens seemed to panic in the barn. You prayed that the storm would pass and that you could tend to the animals tomorrow. When you finished your meal, you stood up to tidy up the space.

When you returned, Jacob sat by the fire, sharpening his sword and humming a tune. He had braided his hair back and seemed focused on the task at hand. You admired him sitting there on your floor and almost reached out to touch his hair but you stopped yourself. He was your guest,a mere stranger, assigned to you by the King. For all you know, Jacob could be gone tomorrow without so much as a goodbye. The thought saddened you.

“Goodnight, Jacob.” You said lowly.

He turned to face you and smiled. His eyes wrinkled as his cheeks lifted and he paused before speaking.

“Goodnight, fair Rose.”

#jake gvf #jake kiszka #jake kiszka fluff #jake gvf fluff #jake gvf fic #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka series #jake gvf series #knight!jake gvf #knight!jake kiszka #gvf fluff #greta van fleet fluff #gvf fic #greta van fleet fic #gvf series #greta van fleet series #gvf #greta van fleet #fic #fluff #series #jake gvf imagines #jake kiszka imagines #gvf imagines #greta van fleet imagines

[sensitiveheartless]

*bird nerd activates*

Thinks about birds, you say? Go on...

:D YESSS FELLOW BIRD NERD!! ...Ahem.

Anyway! That fic was basically an excuse to write Chuuya being introspective—he's using various things about birds as metaphors to help work through some shit. Here, I wrote the beginning of it— (putting it under the cut because a little lengthy for people to scroll past lol)

Chuuya breathed.

Despite being in the center of Yokohama, the air was fairly clear around him. Perhaps it was the sheer height of the Port Mafia towers that kept the wind whipping at his coat and hat so untainted, flavored with the distant scent of the sea.

That sea breeze was quite strong that day. But no matter how much it pulled and tugged at Chuuya’s clothes, he remained entirely unmoved, steady. His hat and coat were weighted down by gravity, kept firmly pinned to his head and shoulders, just as Chuuya himself was weighed down against the rooftop, pinned in place. A use of his ability that had become instinctive, at this point.

Chuuya swung his legs out over the edge of the rooftop, gazing out across the city. It was a long, long way down beneath his feet, the base of the Port Mafia headquarters blurry with distance, but he felt no thrill of danger at the sight. He could walk vertically across the side of the building he felt like it, without leaving a single scratch on the endless smooth planes of glass windows. Hell, he could jump all the way down and land light as a feather—had done just that many times, in fact.

The service door creaked open behind him. He didn’t turn to look—he could recognize the footsteps, so he let them approach, remaining relaxed.

A flutter of pink and white robes settled beside him slowly, the swirl of fabric catching the corner of his eye. Kouyou knelt with as much elegance as ever, even on the rather grubby rooftop. She must be very concerned, to ignore the potential damage to her clothes.

“Lad,” she said, quiet but just loud enough to be heard over the wind. “Are you alright?”

What an open question. What did it really mean, to be alright?

Chuuya tipped his head back to look up at the blue skies overhead, and shrugged. “I think so,” he said. “Why?”

“You’ve been up here a long time,” Kouyou said cautiously. “Your subordinates informed me you were acting oddly today. And you aren’t smoking, or drinking.”

Chuuya snorted. “And that’s a bad thing?” he asked.

“Unusual,” Kouyou corrected. “That’s what you usually do up here, is it not?”

“Fair enough,” Chuuya said, still gazing up into the blue. “I suppose I’m just thinking.”

“Oh?” Kouyou said, a light, curious prompt. Not an interrogation, but audibly perplexed.

Chuuya leant back on his palms and watched a gull circle overhead, following its circuitous path with his gaze.

Fascinating creatures, birds. Chuuya could fly as well, in a way, but there was something in the way birds went about it, the way they soared. Much as Chuuya might try, the open sky never truly felt like his domain. He couldn’t ride the air currents, glide about; he had to direct his every movement, consciously manipulate his own gravity to go where he wished.

He wondered what it would feel like to be able to let go like that, to entrust himself to the swirling embrace of thin air with nothing more than a couple of feathered wings to keep him aloft. The closest Chuuya ever got to that kind of blind faith was when he gave himself over to Corruption, and that could hardly be called a gentle experience.

Except…sometimes, there were those moments in the aftermath that could almost come close. Moments as he drifted in and out of consciousness, feeling bandaged hands holding him up, supporting him. A feeling of lightness, of trust, of the stomach-dropping surprise of being caught when he was mid-freefall.

A light cough reminded Chuuya that Kouyou was still beside him, awaiting an answer. Right, he must be worrying her, staying quiet so long. “Just thinking about birds,” Chuuya said. “They’re fuckin’ flighty as hell, aren’t they? Really makes you think.”

Then, that vague thought communicated, he subsided back into silence.

There was a long pause, filled with nothing except the steady howl of wind around them.

“I…see,” Kouyou said dubiously. “...Are you sure you’re well, lad?”

“Oh, probably,” Chuuya laughed, a little wildly, meeting her narrow gaze ever so briefly before looking back at the shimmering sea. He grinned, without quite knowing how it would settle on his features. His face felt a little odd and unpredictable in the face of the stinging breeze. For all he knew, it looked more like a grimace.

I almost forgot—I made a small doodle for this back when I was first working on it, so here’s that as well!

#hehehe :D thanks for asking! #bsd #bsd chuuya #ask box #senhart's writing #skyline pigeon fic

[notasapleasure]

Safe, 8 episodes (2018), part 2/2

Following on from Part 1. Content warning for child death and parental grief.

Episode 4

This is day 4 since Chris and Jenny went missing, and if we thought the Chahals were going through it already, well, just hold tight.

First we have a flashback of Chris leaving to reinforce 1: his closeness to his mother and distance from his father and 2: presumably Neel’s hypocrisy about mobile phone use (cf. the fmaily dinner in episode 1)

Et puis, a rather heavy-handed scene of the school choir singing a song about drowning while Chris’ body turns up at the lake, with the shots interspersed of course.

But then uh, the headmaster notices that the teacher who has been suspended while the police investigate her for csa is on school grounds when she’s not meant to be.

Tim would like for there to not be a fuss.

Tim does not reckon with Neel finally having a chance to be the Man of the Fmaily or whatever this is

Zoe goes to leave, but Neel grabs her hand and pulls her back. Looks like an underage sex scandal is just what they needed to bring them together again!

We don’t really see Neel’s initial response to the news his son is dead, because Zoe is having a freak-out in the doorway now the police are there. Later, everyone sits round the table and looks solemn.

Zoe is adamant: No.

HANDS ;_;

If the csa allegations don’t save their marriage, maybe the death of their eldest child will!

:( (screen brightness UP though eesh)

At home with the grief liason officer :(

When Tilly turns to Zoe, he looks at the liason officer, like he’s checking for permission, and leaves the room. Very. Carefully.

bb :(

also jsyk, this is all pretty much entirely silent, panic attack-adjacent.

Having got that out of his system safely away from any of his loved ones, before whom he can’t possibly show vulnerability, Neel goes outside to try and work out why there are so many police around still.

And because he’s a generous man who knows we deserved some natural light to hit those eyes for a change.

He’s wandering about in a bit of a daze, but Sophie is there to advise:

The police are there looking for Jenny, so kind of connected to Chris.

Episode 5

Trying his best to look after the others! Their neighbour made some food and brought it round.

He manages to persuade Tilly and Zoe to come and try to eat. Then iInadvertantly reminds them all over again by going to set four places instead of three :’)

Truly, a marriage-saver.

I thought it was worth having the progression of expressions there :’) puppy dog eyes.

Before the little memorial service Tilly wanted, the police come to give an update, saying someone (the family who hid the body badly) has admitted to his accidental murder

Ah lads, it’s tough. Something something symbolism of Neel letting himself show emotion and the family drawing together? Also very important eyelashes.

Episode 6

As far as I remember this is the last one that really has much Joplin in it - it’s just tiny snippets of flashbacks in episodes 7 and 8.

It’s NEEL’s turn for a sinister-looking flashback to the night Chris died...

He’s in his car outside the party (it seems), tears in his eyes, looking at his own hands in whock.

Here are the police with more unhelpful news! The guy who admitted to killing your son......literally could not have done it, according to the evidence.

Tilly appears and his demeanour changes immediately to reassure her.

And then the police are like - ‘oh hey, remember how someone framed you to look like a paedo? Well actually the children at the party were fighting over rumours that you are.’

When you already know what’s coming (and if you read my previous liveblog posts of the series, you’ll know I guessed from like...episode 1?), the acting is really good here. There’s a lot of different factors at play making all the characters assume certain things and the way it keeps them quiet actually works well, I will grudgingly admit.

Oh the neighbourhood’s on fire (literally!) stay home and don’t get into trouble Tilly!

Jenny has reappeared (digitally, anyway), and her dad Tom is trying to track her phone down with the help of ‘BO Bob’ (don’t get me started). Unlike actual policeman Herbie’s software in Hard Sun, BO Bob can give you a precise address. Tom: “That’s Neil Chahal’s house!!!” Like somehow Tom really wants to be able to blame Neel for all this.

I understand that plot-wise, they wanted Tilly alone when whoever-has-Jenny’s-phone rummages in the house and Tom goes blundering in afterwards, but do we really think that parents who’ve just lost a child will leave the other one at home alone while they go out to gawp at a burning building?

Anyway, important hairline update:

Meanwhile Tom, having scared Tilly half to death, gives her her phone and tells her to call her parents, while he waits to make sure she’s safe. Whoever broke in (before Tom, that is), smashed the front door and ransacked one room...

You know, taking the Chahals’ scenes alone, and looking at the following screenshot, what Safe makes me think of most is the inverted interpretation of Goldilocks - Tom just keeps barging into the Chahals’ house while they’re trying to have a marital breakdown/mourn their dead son! Will he give them no peace?

Naturally, Neel gets to wondering why Jenny - who was with Chris when he disappeared - has been poking round his place, after a fire and another dead body in the neighbourhood.

Naturally, Tom doesn’t like that.

Looking for reasons to be mad at Neel, Tom notices that the room that Jenny ransacked was Neel’s office...

Tom: “Someone’s after you.”

Zoe: “What if it’s the same person who killed Chris?”

DC Emma: “What if it’s the same person who framed you as a paedophile?”

aaaaaaaand the moment Neel realises he just has to admit to being the world’s biggest plonker. THEE most wally of a man

Well, actually he needs to see Zoe go into a full-on panic attack first because she thinks the same person might hate her family so much they killed her son, framed her as a paedo and is now going after her husband

Idiot. But I thought you all deserved this one without the CC.

Yes, Neel set his OWN WIFE UP AS A PAEDOPHILE. HIS WIFE WHO IS A TEACHER.

“We were going through a rough patch, weren’t we?”

Sure was, mate!

Off he goes for some air, while every else just stands around like a lemon going (⊙o⊙)

Emma would kind of like to pursue the whole...what the fuck was that angle, but Sophie figures they’ll bring him in later for wasting police time. Tom is very indignant that ‘a man like that’ isn’t getting his comeuppance. “He’s a pathological liar!”

I must point out that at this point they are. STILL. in the Chahals’ house. Zoe and Tilly can presumably hear every word.

Later...

Tilly: “I never want to see him again!” Zoe: “He’s your father. He loves you.” Tilly: “How can you stick up for him after what he’s done?” Zoe: “Your father was the kindest, the funniest, the most caring man I ever met...” [me, first time I watched this, screaming at the TV: WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM THEN??] Zoe: “...and that’s why I married him. That’s why we had you. And Chris.” Tilly: “So what happened?” Zoe: "Slowly you grow apart. And one day, you find yourself doing stupid, terrible things...just so you can feel something.” Tilly: “And that’s what Dad did?” Zoe: “Not just him.”

I just.......what can you do with this? These guys are just into some kinky shit if Zoe remembers how much she loves him because he framed her for sleeping with underage students. I don’t even want to know.

HEY NEEL. EPISODE ONE. WHAT WERE YOU SAYING ABOUT PEOPLE ALWAYS ON THEIR PHONES AGAIN?

Actually he’s processing his grief and reminding himself how much he loves his wife. Sorry babe. Carry on?

oh my god though the love in his voice when he says that in the video. sure whatever I’d probably take him back too*

*I would not, that’s some fucked up shit to frame anyone for let alone YOUR WIFE

But losing your son who you admitted thinking of as a bit of a useless stoner, who you seemed to basically be waiting for him to grow out of his boring teenage phase, apparently puts things in perspective

What better moment to imply a man has something to do with your daughter’s disappearance than when he’s reading messages of condolences at his dead son’s shrine?!

Tom is such a nob smh

(what do you mean I don’t get to complain about Tom because I was trying to get a screenshot of the same grieving man’s boxer elastic?)

Tom, right back at him: “And my daughter is alive!!”

LOW blow dude (he wants to use the chance he still has to save her blah blah)

I am a sucker for the way he softens when Zoe calls him.

She’s been worried sick and needs to admit something of her own. In front of Tom, because otherwise how would our main character be able to unravel the intrigue? Hm?

But it’s ok.

He followed her to the party Chris was at...

And this was the source of him looking teary and shattered in the car that night: Zoe WAS shagging one of her students!

Zoe: “How can you ever forgive me?”

*sad clown music plays*

and TOM JUST BUTTS RIGHT IN AGAIN DEMANDING TO KNOW WHICH TEENAGER SOMEONE ELSE’S WIFE WAS SHAGGING WUWEWUEGAEJKFBHF

“This could have ramifications that could affect me child.”

TOM. GOLDILOCKS. LEAVE THE BEARS ALONE.

Anyway, don’t worry, Ioan was specified as a Year 12 in episode 1, so he’s at least sixteen and therefore a consenting adult NO YOU’RE STILL HIS TEACHER ZOE IT’S NOT OK

For a couple of scenes Neel sits there looking a bit helpless while Zoe sobs her heart out next to him, but in the end they’re fiiiiiine. Even Tilly comes over for a family hug.

And they all lived happily every after!

Let that be a lesson to you all!

If your marriage needs spicing up a bit, try shagging a sixth-former while your other half frames you for shagging a GCSE student. With any luck, one of your children will die horribly and his corpse will be lightly mutilated to really help put things in perspective!

I hate this show. Did I mention I hate this show?

I think, to be honest, on the ‘rewatch’ I saw more things it deserved credit for. It’s a mystery that does bear rewatching, because there’s little to reward you for guessing first time round, but there are subtle clues in the acting when you already know what’s going on. Which is a nice exercise for the actors, certainly, but doesn’t make for a satisfying thriller, for my money. The main problem is still Tom. It would work better as a true ensemble piece about how the mystery around Jenny’s disappearance is exacerbated because everyone has something to hide - which is partly what the show wants to do, but it also wants a Taken-style dad who can rampage around crime scenes gathering his own evidence.

Hey ho. Chinos and eyelashes!

---

Rating

Dead? No

Evil? Now. No. I don’t think that’s the word. But........you just read it. Framed his wife for csa. What. What the. What the fuck.

Affects the plot? Well yes. Do you think Zoe’s ever working again after this?

Oh my god, a rating. Uhh. Aurgh. If you don’t WATCH the show, and just enjoy my screencaps, you might go as high as 4/5. But I did watch the show, so 2/5. He looks amazing, but there are two whole episodes he’s basically not in (LIES imdb) and there’s a lot of...everything else...to wade through.

#adventures in joplin sibtain's imdb page #joplin sibtain #netflix safe #safe (series) #harlan cobin's safe

[astrumocs]

i didnt see that u had the love language meme up,

um um so what if i ask for them all for jules,

Umm, then I guess I would have no choice but to spill the beans huh?

Words of Affirmation -

Does your muse like giving compliments?

He isn’t the type to compliment for no reason or to try and win favor with them, but he likes to give compliments on things he deems worthwhile. If you’ve done something very well or very helpful, he’ll say as much.

How easy is it for your muse to say‘ i love you’?

So Jules and his ancestor have the whole ‘not saying i love you thing in common’ I think, albeit for different reasons.

He can love, although it’s an infrequent emotion for him-- especially these days. He loved Lad and Oda though, truly. I think it was hard for him to say out loud, he’s always been a bit shy with unabashed feelings. I think maybe the first time he said it to Ladnah, he wrote in on sticky note and slipped it into his stuff or something...

What is one compliment your muse is dying to hear?

He’s not really the compliment seeking sort tbh, but he’ll always appreciate any compliments on his work.

What is something your muse loves being praised for?

Honestly the compliment thing applies here too,

Acts of Service -

Does your muse like it when people do work for them?

It depends on the work! If it’s not something he cares too much about but still needs to be done, then yeah! He actually appreciates it a lot in those cases, especially if he doesn’t actually have to ask, but he’s already made it clear that it’s something he wants.

If he cares about the work being done though, he’ll want to have some involvement in getting it done usually.

--Rest of Acts of Service & the other Love Languages under the cut!--

Does your muse enjoy giving people a hand with work?

If it’s something he’s good at/capable with, then yeah! He actually doesn’t mind helping people with things if he likes them.

What acts of service would your muse appreciate the most?

Being brought tea or someone tidying up for him (Although, if you’re cleaning the lab, you better know where everything's designated place is lol).

What is one chore your muse would prefer someone else do for them?

I would absolutely say cooking if his taste buds worked properly, but they don’t... Ironically I’d say laundry for Jules, just like his ancestor. Except he’s got a lot more clothes to keep clean, what with all the people in his care,

Receiving Gifts -

Does your muse enjoy giving gifts?

He does Not enjoy the process of picking out or the embarrassment of giving over the gift, like, at all. However, he does enjoy being able to give little thoughtful and practical things if he can get over the whole ordeal leading up to it.

What is a gift your muse is hoping to receive?

Julius isn’t really hoping to receive anything that can be gifted to him actually, he doesn’t expect anything like that from the people he knows.

Does your muse prefer receiving more practical or fun gifts?

This is pretty obvious tbh, it’s always gonna be practical. When he was younger, he might have liked the occasional fun/practical mix, but that’s not really his speed these days.

Does your muse like it when someone spends a lot of money on them?

Hmmm, I think he did somewhat in the past, especially with dating a teal and a violet lol. These days he’s too untrusting to expect something to not have a catch, though.

Quality Time -

What is your muse’s ideal date night? 

Staying in at hive, no question. Jules likes spending time in the same space as his partners, usually doing their own things, but he’s not against finding an activity to do together either. He likes to have physical contact too, that’d be ideal for him.

How comfortable is your muse with prolonged eye contact?

It really depends on the situation but generally the more he likes you, the less time he can hold eye contact with you for lmao. He’s also not the best at holding it if he feels guilty for something, but he’s great at holding it if he’s afraid of you!

Does your muse prefer conversation or just sitting quietly with their s/o?

Honestly I was gonna say quiet, but I think with how quiet and lonely things were for him for a while there, he actually likes more conversation these days. In the past though, he’d lean more towards comfortable silence.

Is it easy for your muse to devote their full attention to one person at a time?

It’s not easy for him to devote time to Anyone these days, but it would be much easier to do one person than many and it’s tricky to win Jules affections as it is.

Physical Touch -

Does your muse like being hugged?

If he really really trusts someone, then yes. His anxiety and paranoia can leave him feeling unsafe a lot, but being hugged by someone you trust makes things feel a little safer...

Where could someone touch your muse to calm them down?

Again, assuming trust, I think the side of his face would be most effective. Opposite of Oda in that regard; you need to bring his attention to you and distract him from whatever is distressing him, so eye contact can actually be helpful.

Is there anywhere on your muse’s body they want to be touched most?

Oooo... His hair, i think he misses that a lot. Also, his waist.

Does your muse find themselves subconsciously seeking out physical contact? ( ie. reaching for s/o’s hand without realizing it )

Younger Jules? Absolutely, he was a pretty touchy guy and most of it was subconscious, too. Sometimes he would continue the contact with Oda even if it got pointed out to him, just to be obstinate and make some kind of point (Spades, y’know?). If Lad ever pointed it out, he’d probably get a little embarrassed about it and then ask if he was okay with it... he liked holding that guys hands i think.

Current Jules though? No, never. He kind of wore down that part of himself, he doesn’t really seek it much anymore, subconscious or otherwise.

#about julius #quiescent trolls #love language meme #my grammarly wasn't working on this ask so if this is written like ass ignore that lol #this was fun hehe #since there's sprinkles of mentions #date of death #head and heart #gonna be safe and tag this as #long post

[gaykarstaagforever]

FREE ON YOUTUBE

Cabin Boy (1994)

"Come on over here, honey. You've managed to charm me with your moronic innocence."

I was 12 when this...whatever it is...came out. My parents were real sticklers for the whole 13 part of the PG-13 rating, so I didn't see it at the time. And because this was 1994, the Internet was just a thing the Pentagon used to send racist memes to itself, so I don't remember even hearing about this thing.

...Or about how, at the time, it was a giant bomb, and widely considered one of the "worst movies EVAR" by that era's smug hipsters who had found a way to get paid to compile those lists.

(Yes, we had them back then, too. They even got away with being called "journalists" back then, like the thing they were doing was some kind of public service. It was not, by any stretch of the concept. But they published it in newspapers alongside actual headline news, so we didn't think about it and let that happen.)

Speaking of people letting things happen to them - so, point is, I had no idea what the hell Cabin Boy was before I watched it. If I had, would I have watched it? I don't automatically trust the opinions of anyone who isn't me. But I also don't seek out media that has an overwhelming reputation for being frustrating and stupid, because that often means I too will find it frustrating and stupid. So I don't know if the critical consensus would have warned me off.

What I do know is, the first 40 minutes of this 80 minute movie (with extended credit sequences) plays host to some of the most unbearably unfunny anti-jokes I have ever endured.

Nothing works in the first half of this. They don't follow through whatsoever on their already idiotic premise (a 'Fancy Lad' accidentally ends up on a rough fishing ship). The only tone is "and then THAT happened!" The cast acts like they're from at least three very different movies. David Letterman has a cameo where he is David Letterman for a scene, and it doesn't help anything in any way (star / writer Chris Elliot and his writing partner got Tim Burton to produce this mess with $10 million of someone else's money, specifically because Chris and the other guy were staff writers for Letterman's show).

There is exactly one joke that lands in the first half, and it is when Andy Richter, playing "a big stupid guy" (brilliant) does what he thinks is a hulu dance. Andy Richter silently wiggling is literally as good as it gets. I was ready to give up.

....But then came the weird puppets. While the first half of this experiment is an exhausting array of sitcom situations almost completely devoid of humor or anything else, it at one point suddenly becomes a vulgar children's adventure movie, if directed by Terry Gilliam. The fantastical costumes and props and puppets and matte paintings and sets are all great, with a specific and distinctive painted storybook style, and the filming and staging of them is as good as Hollywood gets. There are ice giants; a heroic shark-man; the Hindu goddess Kali, who lives in a cave and has sex with wrecked sailors, while her giant husband is out selling appliances (I think) to other fantasy creatures. All of this is ridiculous, but in the fun, good way. Some real professionals worked hard on these aspects of the film, and that is perhaps the Tim Burton production shining through?

What a shame it is all in service of this particular movie. Truly, no one has ever put in this much work for so little.

The rest of the movie also improves in the second half. While there are no believable character arcs to speak of, at some point the titular Cabin Boy and the crew of fishermen who hate him settle in to a begrudging respect for each-other, and their interactions after this point are, besides the production design, the best part of the movie. The Cabin Boy, weekly defined at the start as a pampered naive jackass, becomes the standard Chris Elliot ensemble character, an eccentric dope with a heart of gold. Chris Elliot is good at that character, which is why he always plays that character. And I like him as that character. Even when he's given nothing to do but bounce from one nonsensical mess to another. And this group of skilled character actors do the best they can to give depth to this razor-thin material.

The jokes get better, too. The story of where the shark-man came from is solid. As is the Cabin Boy using his swimmer love-interest as a rideable watercraft. These are the kind of charmingly over-the-top things a movie like this should be filled with. Unfortunately, there's just not a lot of them.

In looking up how and why this movie happened, I found this retrospective from The Ringer from 2018, aligned with the 25th anniversary Blu-ray rerelease. The premise of that piece is that Cabin Boy is an underrated, ahead-of-its-time anti-comedy that paved the way for Adult Swim and what people used to do on YouTube 10 years ago, and that you'd get it if you were cool.

I'm going to respectfully disagree with that stupid bullshit, you idiot. I appreciate that Elliot was aiming for the kind of snide, winkingly-ironic, piss-take-of-everything comedy that Gen X just couldn't get enough of in 1994. And that can be done in a way that transcends that specific mode and era of media and delights a general audience: think Weird Al, and the early seasons of The Simpsons. But it is also possible to try for that and just completely fuck it up. And I think that is, for the most part, what happened here.

If you are of a type that finds whatever the first part of this movie is trying to do funny and effective, great. Maybe you saw it as a kid, and as a kid who has no standards and missed all the random stupid sex jokes, it really connected with you. Fine. Comedy, and how we come to it, is subjective. But you were / are clearly part of a niche audience, because this thing made back $4 million of a $10 million budget. Why make a general release movie of this at all, if you're not interested in appealing to anyone who doesn't already think David Letterman's dickholery was the height of comedy? I realize he was popular as a latenight host. But that style doesn't translate into a good comedy movie on its own. You have to balance it out with wit and heart and gleefulness, and make an easy-to-follow narrative out of all that.

I know that, because in 1994 they tried to avoid having to do that for 40 minutes, and it fell so flat that even they stopped and made a better fantasy action movie with the rest of the budget.

Cabin Boy is certainly worth seeing, if you can make it through the first half. There is a fun and inventive kids' adventure movie floating around in here, like a delicious hotdog spinning around in an overflowing toilet. In that, it is certainly a one-of-a-kind piece of art. Because why would anyone ever make something like this, ever again?

Holy hell.

#cabin boy #free on YouTube #1990s #chris elliot

[lathalea]

(Thorin's royal ask box. Thanks again luv)

Greetings great king under the mountain. It is Raven. I received your answer with great joy. I wanted to say thank you for the smile and the wonderful insight to your culture. I am currently traveling to Dale to celebrate my birthday tomorrow (April 14th) and wanted to ask you two questions. One what was it like celebrating birthdays before smaug and during your quest. And the other would you like to join in my celebration. I can hardly wait to hear from you, my favorite dwarven king.

Yours, Raven 🍀💐

👑 Welcome to Thorin’s Royal Ask Box! 👑

Greetings, illustrious Raven!

You have truly surprised me with your kind letter – and it was both a pleasant surprise and a welcome distraction from my duties. Some days ago my engineers informed me that I needed to be evacuated from the royal chambers at once. It turned out that the vile slug, Smaug, had in his rage destroyed several vital construction elements in the levels below, thus damaging the structural integrity of the whole area. That is what they tell me. The bottom line is, I am now temporarily staying at Dwalin’s quarters until the royal wing is being rebuilt.

I must admit that although Dwalin is my right hand and we are like brothers, his living arrangements are not quite to my liking. In other words, his chambers are akin to a pig sty and he snores like a sawmill! You can imagine how sleep deprived I am these days. To make matters worse, yesterday morning as I was leaving for a meeting with my advisors, I met a very scantily clad lady running back to Dwalin’s bedchamber with a jug of water in her hands. As she saw me, she giggled and disappeared behind his door. Soon after, I heard, erm, certain noises that made me leave the place quite abruptly to avoid further embarrassment.

As I was sitting in the throne room in the afternoon and meeting my subjects, an esteemed seamstress (whose name I will not disclose here) approached the throne, asking for a licence to conduct her business in Erebor and offer her services in the form of official raiments to the royal family. She seemed quite embarrassed and I could not fathom why. As I looked upon her, I quickly realised that this was the lady I had met in Dwalin’s chambers. Thank Mahal, this time she had clothes on. I ended the audience as quickly as I could to be done with this awkward situation. How can a king make important decisions when he has barely slept and when he has practically witnessed his friend’s debauchery that could have led to a scandalous situation? I should thank Mahal again that no courtiers have seen me with that lady in Dwalin’s chambers. Think of the scandal!

Sadly, the carefree time when I could only be myself and do as I please is a thing of the past, although it was not a long one anyway. Nowadays, as a king, I am expected to act in a decorous, proper way at all times. Sometimes I wish I could become a regular person for a day or two, not being recognized as a king by anyone and not worrying about tarnishing my kingly reputation.

Forgive me this little digression, I blame it on my weariness. I re-read your letter once again and I apologise for my rudeness. I should have started my reply with a heartfelt happy birthday message to you! I hope that you have a wonderful celebration of the day of your birth. May each of your days be unique and may the sun shine on you every day, bringing you joy. You will find a small gift in this letter, a four leaf clover on a chain, made in silver. A token for good luck. My birthday gift to you. 🍀

This brings me to your question about birthdays. Before Smaug came, each of my birthdays was celebrated with panoply and fanfare. Because I was the firstborn son of the king’s firstborn son, the heir to the throne of Erebor, it was more of a state holiday than anything else. People would gather in feast halls, drink ale, wine, and mead to my health, dance and be merry, while I, a young lad at that time, had to sit on a huge gilded and very uncomfortable chair for hours, smile at everyone, nod and wave, and graciously accept the wishes and meaningless tokens of support from my grandfather’s courtiers. I felt more like one of the huge stone statues by the entrance to the Lonely Mountain than like myself, a living and breathing Dwarf. I could not even pick my nose or scratch my head because I would appear bad-mannered and it was unbecoming of a young prince. 

As you may have already guessed, I did not like my birthdays. It felt like a chore and not like a day to be enjoyed. Once I ran to Mother with tears in my eyes, asking her not to make me sit in that horrible chair all day long again. I wanted to celebrate my birthdays the way other lads my age did. Mother embraced me and told me that all would be well. 

And so it was. On the day of my birthday, the feasts were held in my name in our kingdom, but I was not there to see them, pretend to smile, and wave. Instead, Mother baked my favourite chocolate cake, put ten tiny candles on it and asked me to blow them out. I managed to do this and it was the happiest day of my life! Several of my closest friends were there, including Dwalin, and my little brother Frerin was there too, along with my parents and grandparents. I received none of the lavish and useless gifts I would normally be given by the courtiers, a way for them to get into my grandfather’s good graces. Instead, my parents gave me a set of wooden toys I could play with my brother, a hunting knife from my grandfather (it is one of my most treasured possessions even now) and a pair of warm winter gloves from my grandmother. This was the best birthday I have ever had, even though my tummy did not feel too well afterwards. Perhaps I should not have eaten the whole cake all by myself…

Celebrating birthdays during the Quest was a whole different business. I am a child of the winter months myself so no such event happened for yours truly, but we threw surprise parties for several of the Company members. For example, Bofur’s birthday happened as we were visiting Rivendell. Let us just say I do not remember much from those three days we took to drink to his health (we, Dwarves, are very thorough with everything, drinking included). From what I hear, Lord Elrond is still unamused about us emptying one of his wine cellars. You can say one thing about the Elves – perhaps they tend to prefer eating plants over meat, but their wine is excellent! Between you and me, I sincerely hope that Lord Elrond forgives us one day for hanging our footwraps on all the marble statues of great Elves we found in his gardens. And Gloin’s smallclothes fitted truly well on a sculpture of some warrior Elf, serving as a colourful hat! Lindir did not speak to any of us after that memorable event. I wonder why the Elves do not share our sense of humour. Perhaps you know the answer to this question?

I have been thinking about your second question for a while. How fortunate that you are visiting Dale! Your birthday calls for a proper birthday celebration and this brings me to a proposal I would like to make. Yes, I would be honoured to meet you on such an important day and enjoy it together with you. There is, however, one condition: I will arrive incognito and I am asking you not to act surprised when you see me dressed in simple garb and wearing a worn out leather cloak instead of my royal garments. Would you also be so kind and address me simply by my name without any titles? I do not wish to be recognized by anyone but you. Will you indulge me and allow me to be just a regular traveller visiting Dale to see his dear friend? 

If so, let us meet tomorrow by the stables in Dale, two hours after dawn. I will arrive on a dapple grey mare. It will be a great privilege to see you at last and to celebrate this special day with you. Or perhaps even two days, if your schedule allows. I can hardly wait until I can show you around Dale and its markets, make you taste the local delicious foods, visit the best taverns in the city, and if the time allows – go for a ride along the green banks of the Long Lake. I am looking forward to our little adventure.

Until tomorrow,

👑 Thorin Oakenshield

#thorin's ask box #the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #letters from thorin #thorin imagine #thorin #thorin x reader #king under the mountain #bofur #dwalin #frerin #the hobbit imagine #happy birthday

[foxsimthings]

Zehra Balik & Luca Batista for @buglaur ‘s Calloway Twins!

Zehra Balik | She/Her | Bisexual Creative | Paranoid | Daydreamer Aspiring Author

Luca Batista | He/Him | Closeted Homosexual Hot-Headed | Loner | Practical Not Good For Much

This remote, dodgy campsite has seen more of Zehra and Luca than it would probably truly like to. A year ago, Zehra was attacked by a wild animal while have a romantic vacation with her then boyfriend, Seth, who turned out to be a total loser. It was her ex boyfriend Luca that came to pick her up after the incident, following a call from her mom. The two hadn’t seen one another since their breakup six months prior. They didn’t expect to see one another much after, either, but Zehra was... unwell.

She was losing time, particularly around the changing moons. Her once vegetarian diet became almost completely carnivorous. Zehra was changing.

A year later, the two have returned searching for answers. Of course, flat-out explaining that they’re back hunting for a werewolf might make them look a little less than reliable, so arriving to find a pair of bachelors hosting their challenge at the same site will be a perfect alibi. Until the full moon, that is.

Luca:

He’s dated many women over the years and been unsuccessful at actually maintaining a relationship with any of them. He and Zehra’s mom were always close, considering he was raised without his, and it’s one of the relationships he holds dearest. Luca isn’t sure why he broke things off with Zehra, she seemed like the only one that might be able to put up with him for good, but it just wasn’t right. Maybe getting to know a strapping young lad will reveal some truths about himself?

Ultimately, Luca is a simple young man with simple aspirations. Namely, to get a good job, to move out of the shitty trailer park he’s been stuck in all his life, and most importantly to Not Be A Waste Of Skin. For once.

Very much remembered as a school bully, most of the folks that knew him when he was younger don’t have much good to say about him. Luca wouldn’t even be able to defend himself; he was a hurt young man, and hurt people hurt people. That doesn’t absolve him of guilt, however, and he’s issued many apologies over the years.

Luca’s love languages are gifts and acts of service. He doesn’t talk very well, usually fairly quiet unless it’s to say something sarcastic or be grumpy about something. He’s more likely to quietly present someone he likes with a thing he overheard them mentioning they needed or wanted offhandedly a month ago, or drive them to that appointment he knows is important to them, than he is to actually speak words of love. Word hard, present easy.

He owns one pair of shoes. Why does anyone need more than one? Until his toes are sticking out the bottom, he won’t get another pair, either.

Secretly really into art and painting. He used to draw comics when he was a kid and loved it a lot. He’s a talented artist, but according to his father, art isn’t a valid career, so one is more likely to see his work in the margins of library books than any galleries. For now.

His truck is his pride and joy, and his truck sucks. It’s falling apart, held together by duct tape, dreams, gum and paperclips, but he loves it. For him, his truck is a an escape, the way drawing is an escape. He can get out of his life and go somewhere else, visit a new town and say his name is Steven and have nobody know who he really is. And he dreams, often, of being Steven. Or Jason, or Trent, or Marcus - anyone but Luca.

Luca doesn’t genuinely laugh often. He snorts, or chuckles. In part it’s because he’s a crabby lil guy, but in other part it’s because he has the goofiest laugh in the world and would be ASHAMED if anyone found out. But when he really gets going, he’s been known to snort, often.

He’s terrified of moths. Spiders? Cool. Scorpions? Great. Snakes? Neato! Moths? He’s shitting and screaming and crying. The bigger and hairier they are, the scarier they are, and he will not argue that point for any reason.

Luca is extremely allergic to kiwi. He doesn’t know that yet because he’s never eaten kiwi.

Zehra:

Zehra does actually have a very small amount of internet fame! Miniscule, actually - actually, she doesn’t have any fame, except for being known as the girl whose brother is that one heavyweight wrestler hell bent on being the first wrestler in his weight class to win a championship on a diet of shawarma. It hasn’t happened yet. 

She spends most of her time in her own head, and can be a little hard to get the attention of when she’s drifted off in some fantasy world. Her favourite genres to read and write about are primarily fantasy and mystery. Now, of course, she doesn’t love those werewolf harlequin romance novels so much, but they used to be a favourite of hers.

Everything about her is Aquarius. She’s generally very go-with-the-flow, Zehra can stand up for herself but if it’s not hurting someone else or directly impeding her ability to live her life, she lets a lot of stuff just roll off her back for the most part. 

She really, truly thought she would marry Luca once upon a time. Her mom still asks if they’ll get back together. 

Zehra and her family are generally very close. She does most of the publicity for her big brother(the wrestler) and handles his social media, working as a receptionist for a local newspaper the rest of the time. Unfortunately reading about handsome cryptids and taking pictures of her brother eating his tenth meal of the day don’t actually pay the bills.

And speaking of meals, she will whip up the meanest shawarma of your life. The Balik family are all foodies, and she primarily only ever worked out to counteract her love of pita and falafel.

She’s a chronic goldfish murderer. She doesn’t mean to! Zehra takes the best care she can of her little fishy friends, gets them the biggest tank she can afford, the cleanest water, the yummiest food; and they still kick the bucket. She’s begun to take it personally.

Zehra is the queen of creative dates. She loves a nice coffee date, or a movie, but consider driving two towns over to check out that drive-in theater where you watch Jaws in the pool? Or donning some medieval garb to take part in Ren Faire? Wouldn’t it be romantic to pick out groceries blindfolded and have to cook a meal for one another with the ingredients selected?

The prospect of turning into a werewolf is... understandably nervewracking. It feels like time is ticking and this stupid campsite is the only lead they have on anything even close to answers. While getting distracted might keep them from finding a solution, it might also be the last hurrah she gets before, you know, wolfing out. Might as well enjoy it, maybe?

She broke her arm falling out of one of those little red and yellow push cars as a child and, since then, has refused to drive herself. She’ll run, walk, bike, bus, hitchhike, anything and everything BUT get a car and drive it. It’s the only real childhood trauma she has.

#callowaysbc #sims 4 #ts4 #i'm sweading and shidding and farding #nervess #and yes I did use adult Luca for this #i just love him so much #and i love laur #so #there are only 2 people in this world i would trust with my son

[sleepystawbie]

I truly don’t understand all the Kal Skirata hate out there. I’ve read the first 4 books of the series and I’m waiting for imperial commando 501st to get here so I can give that a bash and I really don’t see why he’s so hated.

he’s well fleshed out as a deeply flawed and hurt character. Hurt people hurt people, so all the mistakes he made when raising the Nulls, his role in the GAR and how he treated Etain fit his development. I like how we don’t see why he is the way he is until Order 66. We get to sit on his decisions and actions until then.

I don’t think he’s characterised as being homophobic - although it’s not a stretch to see the writer being so - I think it’s just not something on his radar. If one of his boys turned up with a nice lad on their arm I don’t think he’d even bat an eye. I think he just has ‘straight old man’ syndrome in that unless otherwise stated, he assumes everyone is straight like he is (like how I assume everyone is Bi like I am until proven otherwise)

I don’t think he handled Etain and her pregnancy well but bloody hell, give the man a break, who would?! Random ass Jedi lady decides -WITHOUT ASKING! - to get proggers in the middle of a galaxy wide armed conflict by a man she practically owns . Who the hell would be acting right? I wanted to slap her silly!

Some of y’all didn’t grow up surrounded by old armed forces men and it shows. But I did and Kal is exactly like they are - a product of their upbringing and time in service. I’m not saying he’s a saint - he definitely isn’t and knows it -I just don’t think he deserves to amount of hate he gets in fandom.

If you have any evidence to change my mind - chapter and verse please, I want receipts not head cannon - sling it my way, but for now it’s Papa Kal loving hours all day every day.

#kal skirata #kal’buir loving hours #repcomm #republic commando #fandom meta #star wars legends

[marmosa]

if it were up to me.

George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: none!!

A/N: i don’t celebrate christmas, but if you do- merry christmas!!!! i hope this is a lovely treat for all of you that do and don’t celebrate the holiday. i’ve been binge watching the movies with my sibling this past week (we’re on winter break right now) and i was just on a roll (finally got some inspo thank god). but i loved writing this piece and i truly hope you all enjoy reading it just as much as i did writing it. happy holidays to you all, i love you tons <3

***

“Are you busy right now?” 

[y/n] looked up from the papers splayed out over the table in front of her, her lips pursing into a little pout of annoyance at her broken spell of silence. She grit down a sarcastic remark and looked over her shoulder towards the source of the sound, the venom bubbling to the tip of her tongue dissolving in an instant as she put a face to the voice. 

“Ah! George! Um, a little bit, but I have a moment to spare. What do you need?” 

He visibly relaxed when the soft tone of her voice ran through his ears, her inviting smile and outturned posture welcoming him into her space, “I wanted to ask you a question actually.” 

[y/n] furrowed her brows and quirked her head to the side, her brain rapidly noting and filing his odd behavior. George was naturally more calm in his pursuits and actions, well as calm as a Weasley twin could be anyway, but this seemed to her a bit overkill. As he stalked over, she picked up on the way he was wringing his hands and the corners of his smile were twitching. It irked her, but she resigned not to mention it. 

“Well, out with it already! You’re making me nervous just standing there,” she chuckled, using her ankle to pull out the chair next to her, motioning for him to take a seat with a jerk of her chin. 

He let out a puff of air and plopped down next to her, slumping his shoulders into the chair. [y/n] couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her at his display of annoyance, his eyes flickering to her face for what felt like the first time since he approached her. He could feel his smile twitch yet again as he rehearsed what he was supposed to tell her. 

“Okay, well it’s less of a question and more of an explanation and then a query,” he explained, obviously trying to dance around getting to the point. 

“Alright, out with it then,” she nodded, raising her brows with a tilt of her head to edge him on. 

“Uhm, Merlin, he’s a bloody git for making me do this,” George groaned, shielding his face with his hands and lulling his head backwards. 

“Who’s a- George if you keep beating around the bush I’m gonna tune you out and get back to work,” [y/n] huffed, her expression falling into one of mild irritation. 

“Sorry! Sorry- uh, you know Emmett right?” George began, his heart twisting in his chest with every word that started to tumble forth from his mouth. 

“Yeah, we have nearly four classes together. What about him?” 

“Well, uhm, he was too nervous to ask you himself- Hufflepuff and all, so he requested my services during potions. Came up to me, sweating awful bad, red up to his neck, and asked that I ask you if you’d go to Hogsmeade with him this coming week,” George finished the last part with venom biting at his tongue, his retelling obviously botched out of Emmett’s favor. 

[y/n] could feel the embarrassment bleed its way into every single crack of her face, her eyes bulging out of their sockets as her brain drowned in it’s process’. She quickly averted her gaze to the papers next to her, grabbing at some blank parchment and her quill. 

“That- uhm, wow! That’s incredibly sweet of him to ask. However-” 

George felt his heart begin soar at the ‘however’, biting back his extremely obvious shit-eating grin fighting its way onto his face, “Yes?” 

“I was actually hoping someone else would ask me to Hogsmeade, well not necessarily ask, more like officiate it as a date of sorts? I-I don’t know, but I unfortunately can’t accept his offer- lovely as it is! Of course,” she rushed out, chewing on the inside of her cheek to try and soothe the discomfort bubbling in her stomach. 

“So, that’s a no?” George questioned for clarification, more to fan his internal flame of victory than get an answer for the Hufflepuff boy. 

“Yeah, it’s a no- oh! But George, do let him down gently please, I know Emmett and he can be a bit overcritical at times. Just let him know it’s not his fault, I just happen to like someone else,” she trailed off, her eyes glued to her hand that had subconsciously shot forward to squeeze George’s wrist as he stood up to go dutifully deliver her answer. 

“Anything for you,” he finally let his smile crack through, his other hand reaching over and squeezing hers, “See you in the Great Hall?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded, retracting her hand and turning back to her work as George padded away, leaving her to her thoughts. 

As soon as she was sure he was out of ear shot she let out a string of curse words, her head falling forward with a defined thunk, “Merlin, now I can’t finish my work at all.” 

***

“[y/n]! What took you so bloody long?” Esme called out from the table, clambering out of her seat to rush over to her friend who looked more than a little flustered. 

“Oh you know, the usual, running into yet another ridiculous unfathomable situation,” [y/n] shook her head, plopping into her seat. 

“Do tell,” Esme hummed, her lips curled up into an expectant smile. 

“Don’t be shy, give us all the details,” Lucile chirped from across the table, pointing at [y/n] with a fork adorned with a chunk of turkey.

[y/n] looked down and across the table, scanning the area to make sure George and none of his pals were anywhere to be seen. She let out a puff of air as soon as she deduced that the coast was clear, motioning for her friends to huddle in as best they could with their seating arrangement. 

“So you know how I usually spend my free period in the library doing homework, right?” 

The two other girls nodded, Esme already giving [y/n] that cheeky, suggestive grin. [y/n] frowned and shook her off, slapping Esme’s shoulder lightly with a plain ‘ew’. 

“Well George came up to me, acting all the more nervous, completely out of sorts for him-,” 

“A Weasley twin? Nervous? Someone pinch me I must be hearing things,” Lucile whistled, frowning when Esme kicked her leg under to table in a silent warning to watch her volume. 

“And then he spends forever getting to the point of his sudden appearance and it turns out Emmett set him to ask me to go to Hogsmeade with him!” 

“The Hufflepuff?”

“Yes” 

“Well, what did you say?!” Lucile urged, setting her drink down to minimize the splash zone had [y/n] given them a surprising answer. 

“No, of course! You know I like-,” [y/n] whipped her head around, doing yet another sweep of the table to ensure she wouldn’t be heard by the wrong people before dropping her voice to a hush, “you know I like George.” 

“No wonder he was nervous!” Esme threw her hands up, earning herself a few awkward glances from the people seated next to them, “he was worried you’d take up Emmett’s offer.” 

[y/n] could feel that same embarrassment from earlier draw itself taut on her features, as she folded into herself, “That’s a load of rubbish.” 

“No, Esme’s right. If you certain he approached you as awkward and nervous as he was, it’s probably because he didn’t want you to say yes to Emmett’s offer,” Lucile concurred, finally directing her attention back to her meal, “besides, I passed him and Lee in the hall earlier and I caught your name.” 

“What-?” [y/n] coughed, nearly choking on her food at Leslie’s far to casual mention of this piece of information. 

“Yeah and then when they saw me they went all quiet and headed the opposite direction of me,” Leslie nodded, biting back an amused smile as she watched [y/n] literally melt in on herself in real time. 

“You’re bluffing! That’s great news innit! Come on [y/n] you’ve gotta let yourself accept that he likes you,” Esme clicked her tongue, elbowing her in the side gently. 

“I won’t because it’s not true. Besides, we’re already going as friends and I think that’s quite alright for me,” [y/n] shook her head, shrugging off Esme’s side eye and disproving frown. 

“Whatever you say, Ms. denial,” Lucile grumbled, pouring some more gravy over her turkey. 

“If you don’t quit picking on me I’m going to head off to the dormitories and forget this interaction ever happened,” [y/n] deadpanned, crossing her arms over her chest with a pout. 

“We wouldn’t have to pick on you if you’d just admit that he likes you already!” Esme nearly shouted, sinking into herself slightly when Lucile took her turn reminding her to watch her volume. 

“What’s all this about picking on [y/n]?” 

[y/n]’s face went slack with horror, as her nerves painted themselves plainly obvious on her features. She passed Lucile a pleading look not to mention anything, and Esme didn’t need to be told twice simply by the waves of terror rolling off of [y/n]. 

“Just teasing her for the whole Emmett thing, it’s quite funny if you ask me. Poor lad will just have to find someone else, but so’s life,” Esme chuckled, scooting to the side to make room between her and [y/n] for George to take a seat. 

“Exactly, that’s what I said! Which, by the way, he took the let down very nicely [y/n]. So don’t go beating yourself up over something you couldn’t help,” George mentioned, reaching around [y/n]’s shoulder to give her a squeeze. 

“Thanks George, I appreciate it,” [y/n] smiled, ducking her head slightly to try and conceal the water building up in her eyes purely from nerves. 

“He’s a Hufflepuff, he’ll cry it out, get a few hugs from his pals and move on with it,” Lee noted from across the table, he and Fred taking liberty to sandwich Lucile between them. 

“Aside from him, we heard you already had a fancy in mind- is that true [y/n]?” Fred added, leaning his chin onto his hand, a devilish quirk to his grin. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” [y/n] snipped back, sticking out her tongue in defiance, “Why are we even concerned with my love life anyway? Esme might be going with Dina, Lucile has got her hands full of potential suitors, Lee’s got his dates for the next month planned, Fred is practically tripping over himself for his newest infatuation, and George’s got- wait, what’ve you got George?” 

It was George’s turn to feign embarrassment, the red slowly seeping up his neck until it overtook his entire face, “Well, nothing in particular actually, it’s quite complicated-,” 

“Complicated in that his crush is shy and he’s shy and they’re both hopeless but he’d kill me if I tried to help, so we’re all just waiting for a miracle to drop from the sky,” Fred sighed dramatically, reaching across the table to snatch a roll from one of the quickly emptying break baskets. 

“When you put it that way it sounds lame,” George grumbled, passing his brother a bitter look, “It doesn’t matter anyway. Hogsmeade is just a bit of holiday magic, something could happen at any time.” 

“He does make a point there,” Lucile chimed in, nodding her head in agreement.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, you’re literally living your own version of The Bachelorette- if I can recall that’s what my cousin told me. Anyhow, if anyone needs a bit of holiday magic it certainly isn’t you,” Esme giggled, wiggling her eyebrows at Lucile’s less than amused expression. 

“What’s this Bachelorette you mentioned all about?” Fred quipped, his eyes sparkling with interest. 

“You’d certainly enjoy it, Fred. What with your lifestyle of charm and dazzling your fancies and all,” Esme hummed. 

“Did you just call me a slag?” Fred gasped, faux hurt painted across his face. 

“I did nothing of the sort! Don’t you put words in my mouth,” Esme threatened, pointing an accusing finger at Fred. 

George rolled his eyes at his friends’ antics and decided now was a great a time as any to slip away while everyone was distracted. He carefully elbowed [y/n] who was thoroughly amused with the electric banter flying across the table, her head snapping to the side at his redirection of her attention. 

He mouthed a silent ‘want to get out of here?” to which she responded with an eager nod. George’s smile widened and her made quick work of maneuvering his long limbs out of the table, offering a helping hand to [y/n] shortly after gaining his bearings. 

The two began to head off but not without Lucile calling after them, “Where are the two of you headed!?” 

[y/n] swiveled around with a messily concealed expression of excitement, offering their friends nothing more than a bouncy shrug of her shoulders before she turned back around and quickened her pace to match George’s. 

The cacophony of sounds echoing from the Great Hall slowly trickled down to nothing but a dull murmur, the occasional hallway conversation the only discernible noise through the sleepy castle. 

“So, I take it you needed a breather after that harsh interrogation,” George began, burying his hands into the pockets of his robes. 

“You wouldn’t believe. I swear they were moments away from drilling me for my Ministry administered ID,” [y/n] giggled, shaking her head, “honestly, you’d think they’d get tired of asking a question they never get an answer too.” 

“Very much so. Maybe it’s just blind optimism and a bit of hope that one day they’ll chip away enough at it that you’ll just give in and admit it,” He chuckled, shrugging his shoulders, “But who knows.” 

[y/n] hummed in agreement, pulling her robes tighter around her body to try and hoard every last sliver of heat she could as they wandered the corridors of the castle, “so, what’d you drag me out here to do?”

“Truthfully I just wanted to get out of there, I had no general plan in mind. But hey! I’m a Weasley, we’ll find something to do soon enough,” He grinned ear to ear, making a show of his jazz hands. 

“I’d usually recommend going out to sit under the stars but the snow and cloudy sky do make that a very unpleasant option,” she sighed, blowing out a puff of air from between her lips. 

“Oh! I know, I have the perfect idea,” He exclaimed giddily, “I know you’re going to start out opposed but hear me out.”

George grabbed her hands and drew her to the side, huddling his shoulder to try and minimize his size to capitalize on whatever privacy they had made for themselves in the tiny little niche in the wall. 

“It’s not against the rules is it?” [y/n] questioned, a concerned quirk in her brow. 

“Not entirely,” He trailed off, trying his best to reel her back on board when she looked more than a bit opposed, “But it won’t get us in trouble- or not a lot of trouble, at least. If anything happens I’ll take the blame, I swear on Godric Gryffindor himself.” 

“Fine, fine, tell me your idea,” she giggled, drawing her lip between her teeth to try and get her bubbly laughter under control. 

“Okay, so you know all those dusty, old, empty classrooms on the upper levels?” He paused, waiting for her nod of conformation, “well, they just so happen to be the perfect place to practice charms, spells, and the newest collection of Weasley Wizard Wheeze’s.” 

“You’re letting me see the new line?” [y/n] gasped with glee, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. 

“Not necessarily new, more like a final product. But more or less yes,” He nodded eagerly, his hair shaking with the aggressive movement. 

“Well, what’re you waiting for? Lead the way!” 

“Say no more.” 

***

“You were not lying when you said these places were dusty,” [y/n] coughed, fanning the invisible particles from out of her face, taking in the clothed furniture and dim windows. 

“It’s not the brightest place, but it’s not too shabby either! Watch this,” George muttered a spell and flicked his wand, all the candles and wall fixtures flickering to life before them.  

[y/n] turned to him with an impressed look, her arms crossed over her chest in pride, “Since when have you paid any attention in charms?” 

“Since forever! I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He rolled his eyes, getting on his hands and knees to search under the furniture for his hidden treasure, “ah ha!” 

“What’ve you found?” She quipped, jogging over to help him with whatever his search had brought him. 

“The new line of course,” He grinned, handing her a lovely orange and purple box, pushing himself off the floor to dust the particles off his robes, “Do ya like the packaging?” 

“It’s certainly bright,” She nodded, lifting the box up slightly to examine the bottom, “I like the ribbon though, it’s a beautiful shade of purple.” 

George felt his smile soften as he reached forward and pulled the ribbon loose from the box, dangling it in front of her, “Well then it’s yours.” 

“Really?” She asked softly, setting down the box, taking the soft piece of fabric from him. 

“Of course. It’d probably end up in the trash anyway. It’d look much lovelier in whatever way you intend to put it to use,” He grinned, leaning against the desk that held the box. 

“Thank you,” She muttered sheepishly, reaching behind her to tie up a section of her hair, “I love it already.” 

George could feel the blood rushing to his ears as he looked at her with pure adoration, his heart drumming against his ribcage so aggressively he was sure it was going to beat right out onto that dusty floor. 

“S’no problem,” He tipped his head forward courteously, “now, you wanna try out some Wheezes?”

“You bet I do.” 

***

“I can’t believe you guys managed to make all this stuff!” [y/n] squealed in childlike delight as she pulled yet another one of their confetti party favors, the confetti charmed to bloom into flowers as soon as they hit the ground. 

“It’s our passion, the thing we love most. I’m just glad it’s having its desired effect,” George chuckled, stomping on the now empty box of trinkets to flatten it out. 

“You guys are some of the most talented people I know. You’re incredible George,” She breathed, reaching down to pick up one of the confetti flowers, stroking its petals ever so carefully. 

George felt time stop. Her words looping in his mind like a broken record, her rolled up sleeves, out of place hair, and gentle handling of the flower an image he was never going to burn from his mind. He felt as if he could scoop her up right there and consume her in a hug so strong she’d melt into his arms and never leave them. 

[y/n] glanced over her shoulder at George, who was sitting crisscross on one of the desks they’d uncovered. Her smile faltered when she noted the way he was looking at her, a far-away look in his eyes and a weird quirk to his lips. She was suddenly extremely self-conscious under his gaze and she quickly straightened out her posture, coughing as if to clear her throat. 

“I look rather unkempt now, huh? Reckon I was having a bit too much fun,” She chuckled quietly, clicking her heels together. 

“You look fine,” George spoke up, suddenly in front of her. 

“You’re just saying that to be nice, I know there’s probably confetti in my hair or ash on my cheeks,” She shook her head, eyes flickering to meet his. 

Her heart nearly stopped, his gaze so intense it made her want to sink so far into herself that she just disappeared and never returned. She wanted to know what he was thinking, what had him so trained on her. It was almost certain in her mind that there was something up with her appearance. 

“Well?” She asked, trying to coerce some words out of him. 

“S’just a little smudge of ash, right here-,” He squinted, reaching forward and swiping his thumb right on the apple of her cheek, letting his hand linger on her face a little longer than it needed to. 

“Oh- thanks,” She swallowed, sounding far too breathless for her comfort, but pretending to not notice just how obviously out of sorts she was feeling. 

“No problem.” 

The two stood side by side in their own little world for what felt like forever, until [y/n] felt the bubble of words lodged in her throat finally pop and surge forward, “are you going to Hogsmeade with anyone?” 

Her brain immediately wanted to back peddle and come up with some shitty excuse as to why she asked such an out of place question, but it was near impossible now as George was already jumping to answer her question. 

“I was thinking it was just going to be Fred, Lee, and I. Maybe we’d run into you and your friends. Like every year. But-,” He shrugged, “I was kind of hoping for something else this time ‘round.” 

“Something else?” She echoed. 

“Like a date,” He continued.

“Anyone in mind?” 

George fell silent, offering her nothing more than a silent nod. Because when it came down to it, admitting feelings for someone when they were right in front of your face seemed more daunting than anything. 

[y/n] nodded and shuffled off to retrieve her things, straightening out her dress shirt and pulling on her robes. She could hear George behind her doing the same, a soft gust of wind letting her know he was also tending to the aftermath of their games. 

“Thanks for inviting me out to do this, it was fun,” She spoke up, still not daring to look up from her hands, continuing to pretend that she was still busy fixing her attire. 

“Anytime,” He replied, waving his wand to send the trash to the bin, ‘you’re always welcome to have fun with me.” 

“Good to know,” she hummed softly, “well, I don’t know what your plans for the night are, but I best be getting to bed.” 

George wanted to say something, anything, to try and make it clear that she was the girl he was thinking about. That she was the one he wanted to take to Hogsmeade on a date. That she was the one he wanted to drink butterbeer with, buy a cute gift for, play in the snow with, and then cuddle by the fire after it all. It was always her he wanted to do those things with. Always. 

But his words failed him once more and he finished the last of his cleaning, offering her a small gesture of farewell, “I have to find Fred and Lee, we sort of planned for something later tonight, so...”

“I understand. You lot are always having far more fun than you should be,” She giggled softly, “But I’ll be off then, I don’t want to worry Esme.” 

“Yeah, don’t keep her waiting. Merlin knows she’d have my head if she found out I was responsible for getting you in trouble,” He snickered. 

“That is very much true, she certainly would do that. Anyway, Goodnight George,” [y/n] waved him goodbye, shutting the classroom door behind her with a click. 

***

“You look far too down in the dumps for the night before Hogsmeade, what’s got you so low?” Esme questioned, hopping over the top of the sofa and sliding down next to [y/n]. 

“It’s nothing, really, I’m not upset, just sleepy,” [y/n] assured, shaking her head with a weak smile. 

“I know you and I know a liar when I see one. Come on, out with it, before I go get Lucile to talk your brains out,” Esme huffed, scooting closer and wrapping her arms around [y/n], “you can talk to me y’know.” 

“I know. It’s just-,” [y/n] sighed, letting herself relax into her friends embrace, “Everyone kept saying George liked me and I was really hoping he would’ve built the nerve to ask me to Hogsmeade. But it seems like I was right, and he doesn’t like me that way. I’m sorry to bore you with this topic again, it seems like the only thing we’ve spoken about for the past couple of days, but I- I just wished you guys had been right about us.” 

Esme could feel the sadness building up in [y/n] by the quiver in her voice and softening of her tone. It broke her heart to see her friend so distraught, especially over something as trivial as a boy. But she knew well enough herself how much these sorts of things meant to her and her friends and despite her urge to tell [y/n] to just push him out and party, she knew that would be of no help.

“I understand darling,” Esme cooed, squeezing [y/n]’s shoulder, “and I’m sorry things turned this way. But remember, we’re all going to spend time together tomorrow with our favorite candies and drinks, near the crackling fire with the winter blizzard swirling outside. It’s going to be lovely and just like George himself said, a little holiday magic isn’t the only opportunity to confess your feelings.” 

[y/n] giggled through her sniffles, rubbing her fists into her eyes to try and dissipate the tears that had welled up in her eyes. She knew Esme was right and though all she could feel was a dull hole in her chest at the prospect of only meeting George as a friend tomorrow, she knew Hogsmeade in itself never disappointed. 

“You’re right, no more tears from me, I promise,” [y/n] smiled.

“You better not, tomorrow is about fun, now off to bed! We’ve got a day ahead of us tomorrow!” 

***

The Three Broomsticks bustled with business, students of every kind huddled together with glasses of butterbeer engaged in cheery conversation. The three girls had found themselves tucked off in a cozy little corner, giggling about something or other, lips covered in foam. 

“And that’s when I turned to him and told him to shut his mouth before we both got caught and ended up in detention,” Lucile exclaimed, throwing her hands up and falling back against her chair. 

“Scandal!” Esme and [y/n] gasped, exchanging looks of intrigued horror. 

“There’s no way he did that, not-,” [y/n] stifled a laugh, dropping her tone to a hush “not in the common room.” 

“Oh, but he did!” Lucile broke into another fit of laughter, her head hitting the table with a thunk as she struggled to real herself back in.  

[y/n] finally got a grip of her laughter, trying to equalize her breathing pattern as she scanned the restaurant for familiar faces, her cheery disposition quickly dying out as she recognized the patrons who’d just entered the shop. 

Esme picked up on her change of manner and reached across the table, squeezing her hand with a reassuring smile, “It’ll be fine.” 

[y/n] returned a weak smile and nod, “I know. Don’t worry about me.” 

The three girls sobered themselves up as Lee, George, and Fred made their way over to the table all with cheery grins plastered on their faces. 

“Well ladies, how’s Hogsmeade been treating you so far?” Fred inquired, sliding into the booth next to Esme, Lee following suit.

“You know, gossip, jokes, more gossip-,” Lucile began, giggling at the looks the boys gave them. 

“And lots of butterbeer,” [y/n] added, raising her glass in the air. 

“Speaking of butterbeer, here comes our order,” George noted, rubbing his hands together happily as he slid in next to [y/n] and Lucile. 

“Lovely timing,” Fred noted, the table erupting in a cacophony of ‘thank you’s.

The table broke out into conversation, some involving everyone and others only demanding the attention of a few. Amusement, horror, anger, and disgust all adorned their features as they cycled through topics, never at a shortage of something to grace the table with. 

As time passed they found themselves outside, discussing where to head off to next, everyone with hopes of their own for the rest of the day. It ended up being decided that Esme and Lee would head off to the Sweet’s shop, Lucile and Fred would make a stop at the Instrumental shop for some personal supplies, and  [y/n] and George would be at the bookstore. Then they’d all meet up at one of the gift shops to search for some small gifts and knick-knacks. 

Before they all headed on their own separate ways, Esme made sure to give [y/n] a tight hug and some reassuring words. The group split and left each other to their own devices before they were to regroup. 

“Is there any book you’re looking for in particular?” George asked, quick to keep their dialogue going. 

“Well not really, I’m actually looking for a few bookmarks and some new pens and such. The bookstore has a lovely selection there, so,” [y/n] explained, glad he shouldered the burden of lighting a conversation. 

“That’s nice, reminds me that I do need some new quills. I have gone through far too many for comfort, my mum is going to gut me when we head home for break,” he chuckled, shaking his head with a shudder. 

“Come on, she cant be that bad. Besides, I know a spell to fix them right up, if you ever need it.”

“First off thank you, I appreciate it. Secondly, if you’re so sure you should come over during the holiday’s, meet her for yourself.”

“Are you inviting me over for Holiday break?” She asked, surprise evident in her tone. 

“I guess I am,” He chuckled, “Only if you want to, of course.” 

“I’d be delighted to join your family for the holidays.”

“Terrific! I’ll send an owl to my mum as soon as we return to the castle!” 

The book store run didn’t last for very long considering they both had an idea of exactly what they needed, the only dallied around the new shipment of quills that were fancifully decorated, as the glitter was hardly something anyone could resist. They paid for their things and stepped back out into the frigid cold, the snow surprisingly calming down quite a bit considering they’d expected it to only turn up. 

“Hm, it seems we still have a decent amount of time to spare,” George muttered, glancing down at his wrist watch. 

“What should we do? I doubt the others are finished,” [y/n] exhaled, the plume of air dancing in front of her before blending in with the rest of the atmosphere. 

“I have an idea, but you’re going to have to trust me,” He perked up, that same giddy excitement from the night before written all over his face. 

“As long as you’re not dragging me to the Shrieking Shack, I’m more than happy to come along.” 

“Brilliant, alright then, follow me!” 

***

“Oh, Merlin!” 

[y/n] gaped at the scenery, her eyes bulging out of her head as she took in the beauty around her. The trees towered high over them, covered in sheets of snow, the green peaking out as if to remind them that it was still persisting through the cold. A few patches here and there of purple flowers that had withstood the freezing cold, poking out from under the snow. A lone bench poised in the center of it all, the entire place feeling like a little nook they could call their own. 

“This place is gorgeous George! How ever did you find it?” She breathed, absolutely enamored with the way everything looked. 

“You’d be surprised what you can find with a few years of exploring and adventuring under your belt,” He nodded, a sense of pride swelling in his chest at her display of wonder. 

“Yet again, you are absolutely incredible George,” She said, more to herself than him, but still managing to get him flustered.

“I’m glad you like it, I’d hoped you would. Wanna take a seat?”

“Oh, sure!” 

She staggered over, dragging her feet through the thick layers of snow towards the bench, pulling out her wand to mutter an incantation so that the snow on the bench melted away, leaving it clean and dry for them to sit on. She plopped down with a huff of content, her legs finally getting a break from all their heaving in their monstrous snow boots.  

“I’ve always wanted to bring someone here, y’know,” George sighed, setting his bag of stuff down between his feet. 

“Am I-?” 

“The first person I’ve brought here? Yeah,” He nodded, a small smile unconsciously pushing its way onto his lips. 

“I- I don’t know what to say,” She nearly whispered, taken aback with just how forward he was being and just how lucky of a position she was in, “thank you George.” 

“Of course,” He grinned at her, his cheeks red from the blistering cold. 

“Hey George?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Can I kiss you?” 

His smile faltered and his eyes widened as he processed her request. 

“It’s totally fine if you don’t want to, I just thought I’d ask, because I got a feeling-,” She went off, trying to save whatever was left of her dignity. 

“[y/n]!” He grabbed her face, turning her head so she was facing him again, “you can.” 

He pulled her into him, their lips connecting in a sweet exchange. She felt her bag slide out of her lap as she scooted closer to him, her arms wrapping around his torso, trying to pull him into her the best she could with their awkward positioning. He did the same, pressing into the curve of her body as he held her face like if he let go she’d vanish. 

It was a soft and drawn out kiss, the two finally reveling in the fact that they’d both gotten what they’d so desperately wanted all this time. George could practically feel himself going lightheaded from just how overwhelmed he was. 

When they pulled away, he had that same grin, giddy joy practically radiating off of him, “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.” 

“Me too,” she giggled, unwrapping her arms from around him to reach forward and tuck his stray hairs back under his hat. 

“Can we do it again?” He asked, eyes wide with childlike anticipation. 

“You can do it as much as you’d like, darling. I’m all yours from here on out,” She hummed, slinging her arms around his neck

“Absolutely wicked! Now c’mere, love.”

#george weasley #george weasley x you #george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines #george weasley x reader #harry potter #hogwarts #hogsmeade #mar writes

[viconiadevirs]

a pulsing wound of need;

I’ve been trying to work out how to tie the two distinct sides I had in mind for Valerius: the strict, stern, disciplined judge and Knight-Commander, supported by comments like Vellexia calling him “a stern knight in armour, where duty reigns in [his] heart” and Sosiel mentioning how strict with himself he is in act 2; and the Urgathoan inquisitor whose goal was to “stoke the seven sins in others and twist their dark desires to suit his own purposes” - and how it ties in with my concept of “the opposing parts of Valerius and Camellia’s alignments brings them together, but the shared part is what binds them.” I’ve definitely talked about how Valerius being lawful works in Camellia’s favour multiple times, but never how Camellia being chaotic actually worked in Valerius’ favour, even if it is most likely in a “I can make him worse” kind of way - and how her romance is a key part in making him decide to reject Lichdom and become a Legend.

Strap in lads, it’s the first 2am 3:30am lore dump(/oc meta?) of the year. Again, shout out to my main for essentially having the entire Camellia romance giffed at this point for easy dialogue reference.

First thing is first: some updated lore on Valerius’ family because it’s relevant, I promise. Valerius’ family turns to Urgathoa because of how prominent the touch of undeath became in their family after the Shining Crusades. They lost their ancestral lands and their seat of power because it was in a county that now makes up Virlych in modern Ustalav - and they became as corrupted and rotten as the areas that surrounded the Gallowspire. But where they could have prayed to Pharasma for salvation, they instead courted Urgathoa’s favour and began to worship her instead in an attempt to reconsolidate their power. This resulted in a selection of undead bloodline sorcerers, two dhampir (Rozalia and Valerius), a couple of shadow witches, a bones oracle. You get the idea.

The Urgathoan faith also greatly aligns with the decadence of Caliphasian society, which the Dragaveis are very much a part of - they cling to their ancient claims of aristocracy, even still retain their titles of Counts and Countesses even though they’ve lost their land and generally have pledged their loyalty to the Caliphvasos. But Urgathoan cells often operate behind closed doors, especially with Pharasma being one of the most prominent deities in the country (along with Desna). And because they cling to their decrepit legacy - even though by their peers’ standards, they’re probably considered impoverished - they very much care about their reputation as a result - as much as Horgus does. Thus, they pretend that rather than actively  seeking undeath out to make them stronger (by mating with vampires, joining Urgathoa’s faithful etc), they claim their unfortunate circumstance is the result of being corrupted by Tar-Baphon’s tyranny - a half truth.

Valerius is no different; he is aware that things must be a certain way and they must present themselves in such a way that keeps them relevant and stay out of the way of the Pharasmin inquisition - who would destroy them without a second thought if they knew the truth. He must play the role of the dutiful son and heir, the stern judge (I’m leaning towards his ‘day job’ literally being him serving in a court of law to tie in his archetype) and he has built his public reputation on that. He even pays lip service to Abadar publicly. That continues into his time as Knight-Commander.

Just like he learns to stoke the seven deadly sins in others, an Urgathoan inquisitor - his mentor - did it to him, encouraged him to truly embrace the concept of serving your hunger. Before he joined as an Inquisitor, Valerius often felt...somewhat ashamed of how much he enjoyed the more sanguinary pleasures and the thrill of the hunt because he knew it had to be locked away for the sake of appearances (similarly to how Camellia hides her own nature, though she keeps it a secret because it gives her an incomparable high) and status . So when he truly joined and essentially became the inquisitor class, Valerius suddenly had a situation where he could justify his indulgences and desires. It is in the name of his faith, where a key tenet is to “I have no duty but to my hunger and my Goddess.”  He is fairly set on keeping that part of him tucked away as Commander.

But then, along comes Camellia, who cares for nothing but her own desire and pleasure. He paid her a few compliments here and there during acts one and two, more in the fashion of how typical nobles might court one another - and while she noted his interest, she didn’t much think of it. He is handsome, sure, but seems terribly boring. Then comes A Noble Intent, and it is...as enlightening for her as it is for him. She notes how tightly wound he is, how hungry he looks at the scent of blood. It is the look of a man who has deprived himself for too long and he gives in when she comes onto him.  As she says afterwards, “I never thought the Commander would turn out to be so open-minded. You have exceeded my wildest expectations.”

And afterwards, she whispers to him, quietly encourages him to indulge in his desires even more - “imagine me in your fantasies” / “I’ll take [being referred to as a demoness] as a compliment”  - because it’s a delightful little secret that is hers and hers alone that he is similar to her when it comes to his appetites, but she wants him to revel in it as much as she does, as fun as it is to tease and seduce him.  She wants to know “everything about [his] deepest, darkest desires”. Camellia definitely finds it fun to tempt him, and he knows he shouldn’t give into temptation like this something something in before a crusader/succubus roleplay happens but he does. He justifies it first through his faith - what Camellia is doing is not dissimilar from what his siblings in faith would do - since he has been so conditioned to keep those parts of him hidden for the sake of public image and because Zacharius has ordered him to put himself above mortal concerns, including carnal pleasure. But Camellia has made him a man undone, done the same thing to him that he's done to others in the name of Urgathoa - but simply because she thought it would be fun. There’s a couple of  fantastic quotes from A Dowry of Blood by S.T. Gibson (hands down my favourite book that I read in 2021) that are appropriate and serve as an inspiration:

“What is more lovely after all, than a monster undone with want?”

“You turned a strong-minded girl* into a pulsing wound of need. I never knew the meaning of the word enthralled before you.” (*switch girl out for man for it to be relevant.)

His bender in act 4 comes as a result of him realizing here in the Abyss, he doesn’t have to hide his nature. Dhampir aren’t an unfamiliar sight and he’s far away from those he would hide his nature from. He comes to enjoy and embrace it, and even stopped justifying it as doing it only because that’s what Urgathoa would want him to do, but because he simply can -  and as a result, when Zacharius tells him what he has planned, it really forces him to confront what he wants:

“I shall extinguish the passion within your soul. You will have to give up everything you hold dear, everything you love and everything that stirs your desires [...] I shall take it all and throw it into the sacrifical fire. And [...] you will embark upon a new path of ashes with a dead heart.”

Now for someone who is only recently learning to embrace this side of himself rather than justify it as part of his faith and be more open about it rather than hide it for the sake of public appearances, that’s sort of terrifying. Not to mention that he is also genuinely falling for Camellia, against his better judgement. He starts to question whether being a Lich is something he truly wants, or  if it’s just something he thinks he should want because that’s what his family would do or that’s what his siblings in faith would do .

The main thing I got from the Legend path is that it’s about taking agency for yourself, taking command of your own soul and “renouncing power for the sake of being [yourself.]” So much so that the Commander even has a philosophical school of thought named after them in the following century based around the concept of having a shadow of your soul, and only by defeating that shadow can you reach true understanding of your sense of self. Valerius rejecting his mythic power, stepping away from Lichdom - which in another life, he might have seen as his birthright -  is his way of saying “I’m tired of hiding who I am for the sake of who I need to be seen as.”

And that is something that would have never happened if Camellia hadn’t tempted him that first time down in the abandoned house’s basement; she comes to realize it was his faith that saved her from death that night,  but in the process - and this is something she never realizes, but he does -  she also happened to save him from becoming something as terrible, if not worse, than the lich responsible for his family’s fall from power. And coincedentally, she saved herself as a result - as the act 5 Lich mythic quest involves the Commander sacrificing their love interest - extinguishing the passion in their soul - if they have one in order to create their phylactery.

So when I say that Camellia’s chaotic nature works in Valerius’ favour in the same way that Valerius’ lawful nature works in hers, that their opposing axis is what brings them together but their shared axis being what binds them, this is what I mean; and this is why I love them together so much - and why Valerius has said Camellia ‘saved’ him, how his relationship with her is a catalyst for his personal arc - but not so much on the romance side as it is about her helping him come to his own personal revelations and understandings - even if she saw it as a fun little game of “I wonder how far I can tempt him for my own amusement” at first.

#scribbles #oc: valerius #ch: camellia #pair: valerius x camellia #okay to rb btw bc i really enjoyed writing this #and being able to tie several loose threads together #me: what does this blonde man need to be more unhinged? a little dose of repression

[kuroopaisen]

a world apart. (iwaizumi hajime)

➵  as a knight in the service of the royal family, iwaizumi knows it’s wise to keep his distance from their daughter. but sometimes, it feels like you can reach out to one another. but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a world apart.

wc: 10k (i’m so sorry)

warnings: f!reader, oikawa!reader, angst (on this blog? it’s more likely than you’d think), intoxication, it’s angst fellas

a/n: i’m so sorry lads. also @dorkyama, thank you so, so much for beta’ing this monstrosity :( i love you more than i can put into words

Iwaizumi had always seemed the image of a perfect knight. Reliable, brave, strong. He’d been a protector of the Oikawa family from when he was considered old enough to be trusted with a sword. He had been Oikawa Tooru’s most loyal friend, perhaps the only man who the prince could truly trust.

Iwaizumi Hajime was, it seemed, destined for this.

But he felt like that sentiment was based on myth. If he hadn’t bumped into Tooru on that one summer day, how differently would things be now?

He tried not to think about such things, lest he dwell too long on the impossible. But whenever he was on an evening patrol, his thoughts tended to wander westwards, to his birthplace. A more pleasant place, in his opinion, than the palace.

He hated the castle at night. He wasn’t all too fond of it in the day, but at least there was beauty to be found in how the sun glittered upon grey stone, or in the bustle of life below he could glimpse from the windows.

But the castle at night was cold; a dead thing, heavy with the whisper of wealth, and the danger that brought. It played host to imaginary assassins, to thoughts of catastrophe.  

Iwaizumi considered himself a reasonable man, but even he was prey to the tricks of the dark.

So much so that he was grateful to be finishing up his patrol.

That’s when he heard the bustle of cloak against stone.

“Who’s there?”

He knew his voice alone was intimidating. That might give a potential assailant a moment of pause – which gave Iwaizumi time to prepare. He stalked around the corner slowly, his right hand gripping the hilt of his sword.

A figure stood in the hallway, dark cloak pulled over their head. Was this a trick? If they were a villain, should they not be hiding? Or was this supposed to disarm him? His grip on his sword tightened as he instigated a defensive position.

He would have to move forward and get his back to the wall, or else he might be too exposed—

The figure turned to look over their shoulder, wide eyes glinting in the moonlight.

Oh.

He frowned. “What are you doing?”

You pouted back at him, turning around to face him and lowering your hood. “Hello.”

Iwaizumi sighed, resisting the urge to run a hand through his hair. Instead, he opted for a customary half-bow. “Greetings, your Highness.”

The two of you stood there in the dark, a wealth of unasked questions hanging between you.

“So…” You folded your hands in front of you, straightening your shoulders out as if you were greeting a foreign diplomat. “What are you doing on this fine evening?”

Iwaizumi grimaced. There was a playfulness to your expression that he didn’t like.

“My job,” he mumbled. “What are you doing?”

“I wanted to go for a walk.”

“Where?”

“Just… around the castle grounds.” You offered him a brilliant smile; the one that usually fooled your father into thinking you were being complacent.

Iwaizumi had known you long enough to see right through that lie. “Unaccompanied?”

“Oh, I will be quite alright,” you smiled, waving a delicate hand at him.

“I can’t let you sneak out,” Iwaizumi said gruffly. He was beginning to lose his footing; if it were Tooru, he’d just need to say a few gruff words and it’d be dealt with. You were a little more slippery. Always had been.

“I thought I could do whatever I wanted,” you huffed, tilting your chin up. You looked the spitting image of your brother in that moment.

“Don’t be such a brat.” It was instinctual, something he’d say to Tooru without even thinking about it.

But you weren’t your brother. And he didn’t have the right to speak to you like that – even if he’d known you for just as long.

You covered your mouth with the tips of your fingers, your eyes wide and round. “You dare speak to me that way, sir Iwaizumi?”

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

You giggled. “It was a joke, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi looked like your father had just called for his head.

“If you will not let me go alone, then how about you accompany me?”

Ah. Iwaizumi clenched his jaw. If he told you not to go, you’d go anyway. If he went with you, then he could make sure you were safe – and he could keep you out of trouble, should he need to. That’d help him rest easier tonight. And his post was over, now…

“Your Highness…”

You sighed. “I am aware.” You turned on your heels, looking over your shoulder at him. “Accompany me if you must, but you will not stop me.”

Well, then. There was only one answer to his question.

“Fine,” he sighed, shoulders slumping ever so slightly.

You twirled around to face him, your expression bright and joyous. It was such a little thing – just a walk at night, yes? – but you were acting like it was the adventure of a lifetime.

“Really?”

“Just… behave, okay?” Iwaizumi sighed, walking up to you. “Nobody can know who you are. And you shouldn’t be out too late.”

“I know,” you giggled, looping your arm through his.

Iwaizumi froze. This was far too intimate a touch with a potential heir to the throne, and if—

“Now come!” You grinned, dragging him down the hall.

Iwaizumi could do nothing but comply.

✧ ✧

“So…” He sighed, rubbing his chin. “Where do you want to go?”

You were standing in the centre of town, lit by the gentle glow of the oil lamps. Even though you were dressed the part as a peasant, you looked awfully out of place. For one, you didn’t look absolutely exhausted.

“Uh…” You looked around the streets, pouting. “I… have no idea, actually.”

“You’ve got no plan?” Iwaizumi scoffed. “You were going to come here, in the dead of night, unchaperoned, and you’ve got no plan?”

“Well, I’m not exactly up to date on the night-life of the peasantry, am I?” You shot back, but there was no malice in it.

Iwaizumi just sighed, running a hand through his hair. How late was it now?

“Well, what do you think I should do?” You hummed, planting yourself in front of him.

“Why are you asking me?” He murmured, rubbing one of his eyes.

“Have you not been ‘out on the town’ before?” You asked, tilting your head at him. He had no idea where you’d learnt that phrase from, but there was something amusing in how you said it.

“Well, yes, but…” He sighed, fighting back a yawn. “I don’t go often. I’m usually working, and if I’m not, then I try to get some rest.”

Recognition flashed across your face. “Oh, I am so sorry!” Your hands came to your mouth, eyes blown wide. “If you wish to go home and rest, then we can absolutely head back—”

“It’s fine,” Iwaizumi blushed. That was a bit of an overreaction, wasn’t it? “We’re here already, so…”

He’d seen that flint of curiosity in your eyes, the genuine wonderment with which you regarded this little dingy town. You seemed so delighted just to be out of the palace. He didn’t want to take that away from you.

“Surely, you’ve heard of something to do,” he said, trying to divert the conversation back to less awkward territory. “You’re not that sheltered.”

“Right,” you chuckled, visibly relaxing.

Thank the gods, he thought.

“The tavern,” you said resolutely, after a moment of deep thought.

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow at you.

You tilted your head at him, that familiar mischievous smile on your face. “Would you rather we go to the brothel?”

Iwaizumi stared at you, caught halfway between shock and exasperation. You really weren’t that different from his brother, were you? Neither of you behaved according to your station.

“You’re just as bad as your brother,” he grumbled. The worst thing one could do was let Tooru have the last word. You were much the same.

“How dare you!” You giggled. “I thought knights were supposed to be polite.”

“We all have limits, your Highness.”

You grinned at that, genuine amusement – and was that gratitude? – in your eyes. “Yes, well… you must take me to the tavern at once,” you nodded, gazing up at him boldly. “Or else I cannot promise that I will continue to behave.”

What was he going to do with you? Tooru was all talk when it came to this sort of thing, but there was something wilder in you. Something more rebellious.

“Are you sure you want to go to the tavern?” He asked, one final time. “I’m not so sure you’ll enjoy it.”  

“Oh, come now,” you laughed, waving a hand at him. “It will certainly be a delightful experience.”

You took off down the street, and Iwaizumi was powerless to stop you. The best he could do was guide you to the right destination. 

✧ ✧

By the time you’d finished your first pint of ale, Iwaizumi was sure you’d changed your mind.

 “So?” Iwaizumi asked, peering at you from over his mug. “Was this everything you dreamed it would be?”

You were sitting across from him with an expression of perfect revulsion. “Ale tastes horrendous.”

Iwaizumi covered his snicker with his mug.

“I want wine,” you sighed, folding your hands in your lap.

“Well I can’t afford wine.”

“Oh!” You gasped, sitting up a little straighter. “That was not a command, or even a request, I just—”

Iwaizumi chuckled. It was a warm sound, full of mirth.

You visibly relaxed, sinking against your chair. “I will pay you back,” you sighed, rubbing your temples. “I am so sorry for being so foolish.”

Iwaizumi still couldn’t believe that you’d failed to bring any money with you. If the tavern had been your destination all along, you would’ve certainly ended up in some kind of trouble. Thank the heavens he was here. 

“It’s alright,” he hummed, smiling at you. “Just stay out of trouble. That’s payment enough.”

You beamed back at him, your entire face lighting up.

You looked different than normal. So relaxed. So… normal.

Your hair was purposefully unkempt, and you were wearing a plain navy robe with a batted-looking cloak. There wasn’t a hint of the usual extravagance the royals adorned themselves with.

He was seeing you truly unmasked. It had been a long time since he’d seen you like this. Like a human being.

Not that he had allowed himself to think of you like that, now. You had always seemed so far away. So out of reach. Tooru’s pretty little sister, princess of the realm.

But he hadn’t comprehended that distance well as a young boy of fourteen. He’d comprehended it so poorly, in fact, that he developed an ill-advised crush on you. He liked to think he’d suppressed that now, after several years of hard work, but seeing you like this made his chest swell in a familiar yet unwelcome way.  

He blinked himself out of his thoughts, dragging his eyes away from your face. If you’d noticed his staring, you made no sign of it.

Instead, you just let out a heavy sigh, playing with your fingers.

“What’s wrong?” He murmured, placing his mug on the table.

“I find it so… strange being here,” you mused, looking around the room. “I feel… different.”

Iwaizumi frowned. Tooru would say this sort of thing whenever they were in the forest, chasing rabbits and collecting mushrooms and splashing around in streams. He’d told Iwaizumi, once, that he wished he could live this sort of life. Iwaizumi had been quick to reprimand his ignorance.

“You’re not about to be ungrateful, are you?” He grumbled. Nothing was worse than a royal who dared complain about their lot.

“Oh, no!” You shook your head virulently, your eyes wide. “I would never!” You bit your lip, folding your hands in your lap. Even here, you couldn’t relax your posture. “Tooru told me about that conversation, you know.”

“Good,” Iwaizumi grumbled. That cut him the job of explaining why such sentiments were foolish.

“What I meant, was…” You looked deep in thought, eyebrows pinched together and lip caught between your teeth. He might have just been ready to scold you, but Iwaizumi wasn’t made of stone. Even he had to admit you looked quite cute like this.

Alright, he thought. That was enough ale for the evening.

If you’d noticed his untoward admiration, you gave no indication. 

“There is a whole world here,” you said, after a long moment. “Many of these people work so they can support my family. And… it is easy to forget that, behind the walls of the palace.” You gazed around the room again, eyes shining with something Iwaizumi didn’t recognise. “I feel that… if the people here knew who I was, I would be met with equal parts spite and respect.” The thoughtfulness in your tone was replaced with a twang of sadness.

Iwaizumi didn’t have the heart to tell you that you might be right about that.

“I know almost nothing about it,” you admitted, smiling slightly. “The most I know is what my maidens have told me, and even that is only a small part of something greater.” You sighed, playing with the hem of your sleeve. “There is so much to know, and I am separated from it all. Even my maidens feel a world away. Every time I try to deepen my friendship with them, they seem reticent. Afraid, even.”

Iwaizumi nodded. Tooru had said much the same thing, once. Told him that he was his only real friend.

“I must admit, I have been awfully bored, of late,” you huffed, but it seemed like an attempt to ease the mood. There was another word you weren’t saying, but Iwaizumi could feel it. ‘Lonely.’

You were lonely. 

“If you need someone to talk to, I am willing to listen,” he said with a slow nod.

Your gaze settled on him again, your eyes full of curiosity and perhaps even a touch of relief.

Iwaizumi knew it wasn’t the wisest idea, letting you speak to him so frankly. That could create a sense of attachment that stepped past the acceptable bounds of his station; he was allowed to be so close to Tooru on the merit that the prince had begged for it. You, on the other hand…

“Tooru will become king, and I have no real direction in life,” you sighed. You, at least, had decided to breach this invisible boundary. “I abhor the idea of being married off and sent away to a place I do not know.”

Iwaizumi sat up straighter, his frown deepening. “Is that… on the table?”

He tried to imagine the palace without you. It was a cold place, to say the least.

You bit your lip. “Maybe. No promises have been made yet, but father wants to… extend our reach. Create new alliances. Tooru tries to speak up for me, but…”

Iwaizumi didn’t know what to say. This was a problem so far removed from his own life, so outside his realm of understanding. He didn’t feel as if any advice he could give would be helpful.

“I came here because I wanted to escape,” you admitted. “I know it must be quite rude of me to play at being a peasant, but… I cannot think of much else to do. I always get struck by such dread at night.”

Iwaizumi swallowed. He understood that, at the very least.

“Have you… spoken to your father about how you feel?” He asked. You’d mentioned Tooru speaking up for you, but you hadn’t mentioned anything about yourself.

You tilted your head at him, frowning.

“I don’t want to… give my opinion where it’s unwarranted, but…” He cleared his throat, trying to meet your gaze with courage. “Maybe if you told him you weren’t born to be a pawn, he might listen.”

You smiled. But it was cynical. It looked unsettling.

“I wish it were so simple,” you shook your head. “Each time I try, he brings up politics. The good of the realm. My duty as a daughter.”

Those were heavy words. Even if he could barely comprehend that sort of problem. He felt lucky for that, at least. 

“Another pint,” he said, standing up suddenly. The force of it shifted the table a little, making you jump.  

You blinked up at him with owlish eyes. “Are you sure? I loathe the thought of draining your pockets—”

“It’s fine,” he shook his head. “You… you just… enjoy the scenery.”

What does that even mean? Are you stupid? He berated himself, but dashed back to the bar before you had time to ask. All he needed to do was get you – and him – through the night without any more melancholy. Or embarrassment, for that matter.

Easier said than done.

He should’ve expected the princess to be a lightweight, seeing as the only alcohol you had access to was the ludicrously expensive shit your family brought out at all their feasts and banquets. Those weren’t for getting you drunk; they were for flaunting your wealth and impressing diplomats. As such, you hadn’t really built up a tolerance.  

One and a half pints of ale, and you were a goner. If looping arms with you on the walk there had been too much for him, he wasn’t sure how he’d survive the trudge back to the castle – this time with you resting half your body weight against him. Thank the gods he was still in a full suit of armour. He wasn’t sure how he’d fare without those plates of metal between the two of you.

“But Iwaizumi,” you whined, “I want to stay.”

“We’re already halfway home, your Highness,” he sighed, helping you up each step of the winding staircase in one of the western towers. It was a while away from your quarters, but it was also the quietest. Whoever had taken over patrol duty likely wouldn’t be hanging around that area, giving Iwaizumi a better chance at smuggling you back without getting caught. If you could keep quiet, that is.

“No, no, no,” you shook your head, making yourself dizzy in the process. Iwaizumi’s grip on your waist tightened, hoisting you up a little straighter. “I want to stay with you.”

“Don’t say such things,” he hissed, trying to ignore how such simple words made it feel like his heart was about to ram its way through his chest.

“But I mean it,” you whined.

Iwaizumi shushed you harshly, making you frown.

“Tooru gets you all to himself,” you whined, leaning in to rest your head against his shoulder. “You never come see me these days.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes widened. You thought about that? Sure, he’d used to visit your quarters more frequently in his youth – especially when he hadn’t realised the dangers of his little affection – but he hadn’t thought you’d noticed that.

“I’m so lonely, Iwa,” you sighed, pulling yourself closer to him. He used both hands to push you away, your eyes wide and unbearably sad as he looked into them. It had been a very long time since you’d used that nickname.

But that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was getting you back to your quarters unscathed.

“Look… if you can keep quiet until we’re back at your quarters, I’ll…” He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to think of anything that might seem like a suitable reward. “I’ll do whatever you ask of me. Within reason, of course.”

You nodded resolutely, pressing your lips together as if to show your dedication to the deal.

By some miracle, you managed to make it back to your quarters with no incident. It had been a slow process – stopping at corners while Iwaizumi listened for noise in the walkway, Iwaizumi having to stabilise you several times as you kept tripping over your dress – but you’d made it.

“We made it!” You gasped. You sounded genuinely impressed.

“That we did,” he chuckled, trying to remove your arm from around his neck.

You stumbled forward, holding your arms out in front of you. You fell to the floor with a soft thump.

“Shit,” Iwaizumi hissed, rushing around to crouch in front of you. “Are you okay?”

His hands were on your shoulders as you looked up at him, beaming. “Excellent!”

He sighed, closing his eyes. “Well… you be careful, okay?”

You nodded again, sitting back on your feet.

“I’m, uh… I’m going to go,” he said, letting go of your shoulders.

For the first time in the last fifteen minutes, you seemed to properly comprehend what was going on.

“Oh!” You clapped your hands together, looking up at him. “I thought of my prize!”

“Prize?”

“For staying quiet.”

“Oh.” Right.

“I want…” You beamed up at him, your stare a little vacant. “I want you… to come visit me. At least once.”

Iwaizumi thanked the gods for the total darkness in your room, or else you would’ve seen his scarlet cheeks in all their glory. “I, uh…”

“Oh, please, Iwa,” you said, clasping your hands together. “It would make me tremendously happy.”

“Alright,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.

“Really?” Your eyes were shining in the dark now, not unlike the stars.

“Yes,” he swallowed. “Now… get up off the floor and go to bed.”

“I will.”

“No, I mean it,” he said, clenching his jaw. “I’ll… I’ll feel terrible if you end up sleeping down there.”

“Fine,” you sighed, pushing yourself to your feet. He knew he should’ve lent you a hand, but he wasn’t sure he could handle any more physical contact tonight. “Goodnight, Iwa.”

“Goodnight, your Highness.”

Once sufficiently satisfied with the image of you throwing yourself onto your bed, Iwaizumi left, closing the door behind him.

Gods, you really were too cute for your own good, weren’t you?

The world had not wearied you yet. He wondered if it ever would. For you had not seen the world outside these palace walls. You had not seen poverty at its worst, seen how nature ravaged against humanity. You hadn’t held a crying mother in your arms, mourning the loss of her eldest son to the wolves. You had only ever known the protection only afforded to those with wealth. A protection he played a part in. 

But he didn’t want you to experience any of that. He didn’t want you to put yourself through that suffering. You were so wonderfully sensitive; something only achievable because of the veil around you. He didn’t want to tear it down. 

And yet, it meant there would always be a distance between the two of you. A gulf he couldn’t cross, even with a leap of faith. But he could see you on the other side, reaching out to him with that expression that made him pitifully weak. 

Maybe it was best for that distance to remain.  

He was going to have trouble sleeping tonight.

✧ ✧

Another night on patrol. Another night spent thinking about you.

Iwaizumi’s thoughts kept drifting back to you these days.

Ever since that night in the tavern, he’d been keeping a closer eye on you. Mostly to make sure that you were doing alright. Eighteen years as princess had allowed you to develop a marvellous talent for masking your true feelings, but Iwaizumi felt he was getting better at identifying your tells.

The way the corner of your smile drooped to one side. The way you clenched your knuckles just a little too tight. The way your eyes crinkled just a little too much.

The fact that he knew them so well meant he was paying far too much attention. Even if he’d made an effort not to stare.

He’d never made good on his promise to visit you. In the light of day, that felt inappropriate. Ludicrous, even. He might have gotten away with it when you were both younger, but he was a man, now, which gave your father reason enough to distrust him. He got more leeway when with Tooru than most, but when it came to you, he was just another knight. He had to remember that.

But those four words kept hounding him. ‘I’m so lonely, Iwa.’ In the quietest hours of the night, they would return to him, ringing louder than ever.

He was thinking of those words as he collided with a figure in the hallway.

He sprung back, hand reaching for his sword.

You blinked up at him as you stumbled back, hood drawn over your head.

“Wonderful!” You gasped, clapping your hands together. “Just the man I was looking for!”

Iwaizumi wanted to ignore how his heart sped up when you said that. But he couldn’t. He also couldn’t ignore the fact that he had just bumped into you in the middle of his patrol. Where he was supposed to be keeping the castle safe.

What if you’d been some kind of villain? Was he really so hounded by thoughts of you that he wasn’t doing his job properly?

“Well… here I am,” he said. You absolute buffoon, he thought to himself. Could you be more awkward?

“I would like to speak with you, if it is not too much trouble,” you bobbed on the balls of your feet, folding your hands in front of you.

“Uh… can it wait?” He swallowed, looking around the halls. He was still on duty, after all.

“Oh, yes,” you nodded. “I shall wait in my quarters, then.”

You were gone before he had time to protest. What were you thinking? It was hardly appropriate for a man to meet you in your quarters, especially at this hour. He wanted to lash himself for the places his mind was going.

He wanted to ignore your request, every reasonable part of him screaming out to walk away once his patrol was over.

But who was he, to deny you?

Before he could stop himself, he was outside your door, palms sweatier than they should be. He knocked on the door softly, his heartbeat ringing in his ears. What was he doing?

“Come in!” Your voice was like a little chime.

He opened the door with a tremble, overwhelmed by the scent of burning wood as he stepped into your room. He closed the door behind him securely, stopping in his tracks when he saw you.

You were sat in front of your fireplace, the flames casting a soft glow over your face. You looked so ethereal, your skirts spread around you and your hands folded in your lap.

It didn’t escape his notice that what you were wearing was quite… casual. Casual enough to be counted as sleepwear.

He shouldn’t be here. He planted his feet to the ground firmly, a few long steps away from you. At the very least, he could maintain this distance.

“You came,” you said, voice soft as you smiled up at him.

“Yes,” he nodded.

“I almost thought you would not,” you sighed, casting your gaze to the floor.

Iwaizumi frowned. Was he that easy to read? “Is that so, your Highness?”

“You never did come and visit me,” you smiled. But Iwaizumi could tell it was fake. All the tells were there.

“I… didn’t think you’d remember that,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Oh, believe me, I remember far too much,” you laughed, gazing into the fire. “Enough to be embarrassed.”

Iwaizumi cleared his throat, the tips of his ears growing warm. Had that bothered you as much as it had him? Or did you not care?

“How has your work been?” You asked, fiddling with fingers.

The mundanity of the question was almost amusing. It was a question usually asked in a conversation between equals, too labourers catching up in the tavern after a hard day’s work. The illusion shattered.

“Why have you called me here, your Highness?” He asked, ignoring your own question. It would be unwise of him to forget his place.

You bit your lip, still gazing into the fire. “In truth, I needed to talk to someone. And I felt… I felt that you would listen to me.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I am tired, Iwaizumi,” you sighed, closing your eyes. “I am tired of being ignorant of life beyond my own. I am tired of feeling like I only exist as a backup, should Tooru fall before having a child.” You opened your eyes, a bitter glint in them as you stared into the fire. “Not that I would ever be a queen. I am a womb before anything else. A pawn to continue our bloodline.”

To hear those words in your voice… Iwaizumi’s heart broke, in that moment. In his eyes, you were so much more than that. You were so bright, so curious, so full of a genuine love for life.

And yet, this status of yours, this position in the royal family was the very thing that allowed you to develop such a lively personality. The irony that such a status should also restrict you… well, that was just cruel.

It wasn’t even half as bad as poverty, but it did sound lonely.

And he really did hate seeing you so despondent.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Would you… like to go to the tavern?”

✧ ✧

The moment you’d stepped into the tavern, your entire demeanour changed. Your posture had relaxed, your eyes had begun sparkling, and your face had lit up. You were most beautiful like this, Iwaizumi realised.

By the time you’d sat down, a mug in hand, you were like a new woman.

Iwaizumi knew it wasn’t wise to let you play as a peasant, to immerse yourself in this little fiction of yours. He’d never thought of his life as one to romanticise. But it seemed to free you, even if just for an hour.

You rambled and rambled about everything; about Tooru’s last blunder, about the most recent dull suitor you’d rejected, about the gossip your maidens had told you. Your little get-up was a gift from one of them, apparently, but she’d been unable to accompany her here because her parents would’ve been too worried to see her going out at night.

Iwiazumi would have told you that your hair was far too long, a dead giveaway that you weren’t one of the peasantry if anyone bothered to look closely. But he simply couldn’t.

You were positively radiant, as you told him all this. It was like joy had begun to run through your veins again, reminiscent of a time before you really understood what it meant to be a princess. You were smiling like that girl he’d fallen for, all those years ago.

By the time you were leaving, Iwaizumi thought you'd forgotten all about your woes.

You stood in the middle of the street, gazing off into the distance.

Maybe he was wrong.

“Your Highness?” His body curved towards you instinctively, concern threaded through his body.

“I have a lot to learn,” you mused, eyes scanning the expanse of the street. “And my tutors will teach me none of it.”

Iwaizumi blinked. He didn’t quite understand. “I see.”

“I think Tooru should come here,” you said.

“What?”

“I think he would grow to be a better king for it,” you hummed, punctuating your sentence with a resolute nod.

Iwaizumi turned the thought over in his head. Could a few visits to town really capture the struggles of a people? It must be so easy to forget about suffering, locked up in that palace. The tavern and it’s people were only one echo of what it meant to be poor; you hadn’t seen the faces of children during a famine, the stained hands of men and women who had worked endless days in the fields, the graves of people who had barely made it past twenty summers.

What could a tavern teach a royal, really? The tavern wasn’t ugly. It wasn’t brutal. The only wisdom in there was that ale sold better than wine.

But it wasn’t time for that conversation.  

“Maybe so, your Highness,” he lied.

“Anyway,” you sighed, clasping your hands together. “I seem to have grown awfully tired.”

He smiled, shaking his head. “Can you walk in a straight line, this time?”

You gasped at him, bringing one hand to your chest. “I will have you know that I learnt my lesson, thank you very much.”

“Good,” he smiled, turning around. “Let’s go.”

“Iwaizumi?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” you smiled, falling in step next to him. “I feel much better.”

✧ ✧

You weren’t a fan of jousting tournaments. They were dusty, sweaty, and on occasion, bloody. Watching men charge at each other with big sticks wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience – nor was having to lavish them with insincere compliments on the command of your father. But, there was little you could do to get out of such things.

As per usual, you were sat in the royal stand, elevated above the more common spectators. Tooru was on your left, looking decidedly bored. The fact he could get away with such behaviour annoyed you – you weren’t granted that same leeway. But, you supposed this tournament was in your honour.

Honestly, you just wanted to go back to your quarters. But most of all, you couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor knights, trapped in full armour on such a hot day. The least you could do was at least look entertained.

You did as you were told, the picture of grace as you congratulated each and every knight, accepting their favour with almost theatrical gratitude.

But you weren’t paying attention to any of them. No, you were watching Iwaizumi.

He was glowing, the sunlight dancing off his armour. It was less flashy than some of the other knights, the metal a little duller and boasting more scratches and dents. But they looked less like a sign of inferiority and more a badge of honour; those marks were real, earned during actual battle.

The thought struck you like steel – Iwaizumi, locked in real, genuine battle, his sword clashing against that of another. Iwaizumi, with his life on the line, standing amongst a field of mud and corpses.

You banished the thought from your mind almost as soon as it arrived, chasing something brighter. Something about how, even though it wasn’t particularly fancy, his armour represented him; sturdy, genuine, yet striking.

Despite the fact there wasn’t much pomp and ceremony around him, he won every joust. Consistently – not with flashy moves or bravado, but by doing exactly what needed to be done. That was very much his way, wasn’t it? Years of hard work honed into just one minute.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him.

When he came trotting up to you on his horse, wreath balanced on the end of his lance as he held it out to you, you couldn’t help but blush.

You took the wreath with delicate hands, holding it close to your chest. You nodded at him, a genuine smile spreading across your face. Iwaizumi caught it, a smile of his own spreading across his own face. Gods, it could rival the sun with how bright it was.

That only served to make you turn redder.

“Oh?” Tooru chuckled, leaning over your shoulder to get a better look at the wreath. His eyes travelled up to your face – and as you feared, he started grinning. “Got a little crush, do we?”

“I have no clue what you mean,” you grimaced, clutching the wreath as tightly as a child might grip their mother’s hand.

“You have done nothing but regard the other knights at this tournament with a cool indifference,” Tooru mused, scratching his chin. A tell-tale sign he was having far too much fun teasing you. “What could be so special about Iwa, hm?”

You resisted the urge to slap your brother across the face. You’d had your whole life to refine a royal sense of self-control, but it never seemed strong enough.

In truth, your thoughts had been drifting towards him as of late. Ever since that first night at the tavern, really. It was just the first time you’d really felt seen in such a long while. Iwaizumi had actually listened to your silly little troubles. Better yet, he’d cared.

Your gaze would tend to float over to him, standing resolutely in your family’s guard. If he was stealing glances at you, you didn’t know. You could only hope.

Gods, that was embarrassing.

“Look at you!” Tooru laughed, a hand reaching up to ruffle your hair. “Your face is positively scarlet!”

“My ladies took far too long on this updo for you to mess it up,” you huffed, slapping his hand away. “I would prefer it if you respected their hard work.”

Tooru raised his hands in surrender, biting his lip in an effort to control his grin. “Trying to divert the conversation, I see.”

“Tooru, people might hear you,” you grumbled, trying to regain some sense of composure. You father wouldn’t be too pleased if rumour spread that you were involved with one of the royal knights. Especially not the paragon amongst them.

Even if some part of you wished those rumours were based in truth.

“So?” Tooru shrugged. “They should be grateful for such quality entertainment. And without having to spend a penny!” 

“You are such a brat,” you scoffed.

“I’m just having a bit of fun,” he snickered, his eyes twinkling. “You know, poor little Iwa has been making moon-eyes at you for the past four years.”

“Shut up,” you hissed, breaking composure as you slapped him across the face with the wreath. You hoped none of the gentry had seen that.

“Oh, but you are getting all worked up,” Tooru laughed, louder than you would’ve liked. “You know, that poor boy would do anything you asked of him.”

You knew he was just teasing you. Tooru liked getting under your skin whenever he could.

But he was right about one thing, at least. Iwaizumi probably would do anything you asked of him. You were the damn princess, after all. Did he not have some obligation to do whatever you wanted? Getting him to escort you around town, coming to your room for an evening to simply talk… were you being selfish? Was this even what he wanted?

He felt so close, and yet a world away.

From your side, Tooru knew he’d said something wrong.

✧ ✧

You hated losing days to your own melancholy. Other people’s, you could handle; if Tooru was upset, you would simply work to make him smile. If your father was angry, you would apply yourself to your studies. If your mother was forlorn, you would take her for a walk through the gardens, pointing out all the beautiful things she reminded you of.

But you? You would just sit in front of the fire, hands in your lap as you tried your best not to think. Thinking was dangerous. Thinking led to fantasising; and there was nothing more deadly than that.

Especially when those fantasies were about Iwaizumi. You had spent all day trying not to think about him, and yet he was the only thing on your mind. You’d spent all afternoon trying to think of anything else as you stared into the fire, but everything led back to him.

Dragons? Iwaizumi had fought a few, in his time. Foreign lands? Iwaizumi had travelled with your family many a time across the border. The kingdom’s finances? Iwaizumi would probably have some pertinent wisdom on how to manage those, given his experience in a poor household.

Iwaizumi, Iwaizumi, Iwaizumi. He was the only thing you could think about. You were positively bundled up in thoughts of him.

So bundled up in those thoughts, in fact, that you hadn’t heard the door open.

“Your Highness?”

You flinched, head whipping around to look to the source.

Iwaizumi, still in his armour. You weren’t sure how late it was, but chances were that he’d finished his patrol for the evening.

“Hello,” you smiled banally at him. What was he doing here?

“Are you well?” He asked, hands folded behind his back as his eyes flitted to the ground.

“Am I well?” You frowned, tilting your head at him.

“Tooru said…” He cleared his throat, braving a look at you. “Tooru said you seemed… despondent, after the tournament. I… I wanted to see if you were okay. If… if there was anything I could do.”

That little… You sighed, turning back to the fire. Of course Tooru would stick his nose in. He wanted to see if this would lead anywhere. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for a lie. ‘I am quite fine,’ you wanted to say. ‘Just a little tired after watching such revelry.’

But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. There was something else, something pounding in your chest. A little question you were so afraid of that you felt it might force you into silence.

You wouldn’t let it.

“Am I abusing my power?” It was a simple question; so blunt that Iwaizumi didn’t quite know how to begin unpacking it. “Calling you to me, like this?”

You looked up at him, an overwhelmingly sincere look in your eyes.

Maybe it seemed that way to you. Maybe you thought he only came running because he felt a sense of duty.

But Iwaizumi knew that he’d heed your call regardless of your station.

“I don’t know what you mean, your Highness.” He prayed he didn’t sound afraid. He prayed he didn’t sound hopeful.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes. “Please,” you murmured, your hands balling in your skirt. “Call me by my name.”

He wanted to. Desperately. He wanted to ram down the wall between the two of you, to speak to you as an equal. 

It’s what you wanted, too.

He moved across the room with deliberation, kneeling next to you. He’d never thought that a word could be so scary. Carry such weight.

But he felt it, in every inch of his body.

He said it. For the very first time, he said your name.

As that word slipped past his lips, your self-control crumbled.

You gripped his gloved hand, closing your eyes. It was just a little gesture; nothing to cause a stink over. But it meant something to you. To him.

Iwaizumi wrapped his hand around yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. He didn’t have the words to explain himself. He didn’t know if he wanted to find them.

But he hoped that you understood.

“Iwaizumi?”

“Yes?”

“Could you… hold me, for a while?” You asked, your eyes a little damp as you gazed at the fire. “Only if you want to, though.”

He froze.

He could pretend, for a moment, that you weren’t worlds apart. That the two of you could walk hand in hand, as equals.

Maybe it was a foolish dream, but he wouldn’t deny himself from indulging in it.

✧ ✧

“Do you not think this is… irresponsible?” Iwaizumi asked, his armour clinking as he walked alongside you.

“Irresponsible?” You giggled, looking up at him with bright eyes. “How so? Is it not safer for me to have an escort?”

“You know what I mean,” Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

“We can go home, if you would prefer,” you said, gazing at the ground.

“No!” The word left him before he could think.

You blinked up at him. He could see so much in those eyes of yours.

“I… would like this,” he murmured, nodding to you. “Very much.”

You visibly relaxed, straightening up a little. “Well, should we get going?”

Iwaizumi nodded, berating himself for very nearly ruining your day.  

When he’d been called to see your family, he’d been gripped with anxiety. Had your father found out about your evenings spent together? Would he be punished for them, even though nothing truly indecent had happened between the two of you?

Instead, he’d been asked to escort you to the forest. Your parents seemed to think nothing of it, really. But he didn’t miss the amused glint in Tooru’s eyes. That seemed like trouble.

He didn’t really know why he felt so guilty about what had transpired between the two of you. It was nothing too serious; a boundary had been crossed, yes, but it wasn’t like he’d ‘ruined your honour’ or anything like that. Gods, he loathed that phrase.

Maybe the guilt came from the fact that he was trusted. Even such a small intimacy was a breach of that trust.

But why should he care for your father’s trust? There were far more pressing matters at hand. Your smile was just one of them.

You looked so out of place, the hem of your cloak richly embroidered with flowers, your dress a vibrant purple. The forest had no chance to compete with your sheer radiance.

But you were smiling. Smiling so freely, so brightly, that Iwaizumi wondered if you might be a star. You were as beautiful as one, by his count.

You were drinking in the forest with your usual curiosity, joyfully asking about each and every new thing you came across. Iwaizumi knew, now, that this outlook of yours was a form of escapism.

“You can eat those,” he said, pointing to a little cluster of brown-topped mushrooms.

“You can?” You asked, tilting your head at him.

Iwaizumi nodded. “You would want to boil them, first. Otherwise their texture is awful.”

You nodded, much like you would in one of your lessons. “For some reason, I thought you needed pigs to find mushrooms.”

Iwaizumi smiled. “Not always.”

You looked up at him, beaming. “What other secrets of the forest do you have for me?”

He felt his chest constrict as he looked at you, gazing at him with such adoration. It was more than he could handle. But he obliged, pointing out all sorts of things to you: how to tell which berries were safe to eat, how to tell how old footprints were, how to find your way towards the river if you were ever lost.

And you listened well, punctuating his little monologues with your own questions. By the time you’d made it the river, your mind was heavy with new knowledge. But, you were happy. Happier than you’d been in a long while.

“Sit with me!” You breathed, settling yourself down by the river.

“Your dress—”

“It will be fine,” you smiled, waving a hand at Iwaizumi. He froze for a moment, an expression of gentle discontentment on his face. “I will wash it myself.”

He moved forward at that, sitting himself down next to you. Close enough that your knees brushed. The thrill that gave you was almost embarrassing.

You took a deep breath, scanning the forest around you. It was very different from the castle. It wasn’t the first time you’d been in a forest – you travelled through them all the time, of course – but it was certainly the first time you were paying attention to one.

It reminded you of Iwaizumi, in a lot of ways; beautiful, in a wild sort of way, but calming. Maybe the two of you could come here more often.

But you had to get through today, first.

“Iwaizumi?”

“Yes?”

“Can I hold your hand?” You asked, a flush in your cheeks.

You felt him take a sharp breath next to you, and you almost laughed.

“Yes,” he stammered. “O-Of course.”

Iwaizumi didn’t know if your heart was pounding as fast as his, but you truly seemed more confident. You removed his glove with a gentle smile, pressing your palm against his.

Your hands were those of a princess; small, delicate, soft. His, the hands of a farm boy turned knight; broad, rough, calloused. The contrast made him uncomfortable.

And yet, it felt so wonderful to feel you so close. Just as wonderful as it had felt a few days ago. Gods, he really was just as pathetic as he was at fifteen, wasn’t he? You were just holding hands, and yet it felt like the most exhilarating thing in the world.

And when you looked at him like that while you rambled to him about something? With your eyes shining, your cheeks lifted in a flushed smile? It was as disorienting as it was delightful. For the first time in his life, he was seen. He was just the son of a farmer, and yet you looked at him like he was the most precious gift you’d been given in a long time.

He wanted to lose himself in that. To lose himself in the way you looked at him. But something wouldn’t let him. A quiet murmur in the back of his mind, something dark nestled in his chest.

Whatever it was, he couldn’t shake it.

“We should head back,” he murmured, looking to the sky. He could only just catch a glimpse through the canopy of trees overhead, but it was definitely darkening. Had you really been out here so long?

“Must we?” You whined, leaning against his arm.

“I don’t want to get in trouble,” he mumbled, cheeks darkening.

“Fine,” you sighed, stretching one of your arms above your head. “If we must.”

The walk back was peaceful, the quiet din of the forest making up for the lack of conversation. You had taken the silence as a comfortable one, shared between two people who enjoyed each other’s company enough to not fill it with superfluous chatter.

For Iwaizumi, it was a very different experience.

By the time you arrived back at the castle, you had set an appropriate distance between the two of you. Iwaizumi thanked the gods for it, because waiting at the gates were three very panicked handmaidens. Your handmaidens.

“Your Highness!” One of them came rushing forward, a hand pressed to her chest. “Where have you been?”

“I was out for a walk,” you blinked, tilting your head at her. “Is something the matter?”

“It’s late, your Highness,” she breathed, shaking her head. “We need to get you ready for tonight!”

You gasped, hands flying to your mouth. “Oh dear, there’s a banquet, is there not?”

Your handmaiden nodded earnestly.

And you were off, without as much as a goodbye.

He watched you go, the discontent that had been brewing in his chest all afternoon finally cracked in his chest.

This was where you had to be. This was your world.

You had never known a day of honest work; your life was handmaidens and nobles, pretty dresses and foreign languages. Your hands were soft, smooth, unbarred by the fight for survival.

You could dress as a peasant all you wanted, sneak out to the tavern, play at being poor.

But at the end of the night, you could always go home. Back to a place of security, of prosperity. You would never have to worry about surviving a harsh winter’s night, huddling with your family for a scant sliver of warmth. You would never have to count out the grains at the end of autumn, hoping, praying that there were enough. You would never have to consider which life was worth more than the other during a famine, a winter, a tragedy.

You had never, ever had to worry about any of that.

His life, his experience – it was mere playacting to you. A bit of theatre. An escape from the trappings of privilege.

You were so, so far away from everything he knew. And the two of you would never be equals.

Not unless you ruined your life for him.

And he would not ask that of you. 

✧ ✧

“Welcome back!” You threw your arms around Iwaizumi’s neck, pressing your body flush against his. Maybe it was a bit bold, but it had been nearly a month since you’d last seen him. Well, properly, that is. “I’ve not had the chance to say that, yet.”

“Thank you,” he smiled, his arms finding their way around your waist. You tried not to blush; he was rarely so bold.

You let him go, stepping back to give him a once-over.

He looked different. He’d gotten a tan, probably from working morning to evening under the sun, and his hair was a little longer. A little more unkempt, too. There was a new ruggedness to him; similar to the one he’d had as a child.

But his demeanour was completely different; both from when you’d last seen him, and from when he was a child. There was a strange, paradoxical aura to him; like a man burdened with serenity. You weren’t quite sure how, but there was no other way to describe it.

“How was harvest?” You asked, tilting your head at him.

“Fruitful,” he nodded. “We… we were quite blessed.”

You smiled, clapping your hands together. “Oh, now that is wonderful news!”

He gazed at you for a moment, smiling softly. “Quite.”

When he first told you that he was visiting his home, you’d said you wanted to go with him. He had said no. Even when you’d suggested inviting Tooru, claiming that it would be a good learning opportunity for him, Iwaizumi had been resolute.

You’d been quite miserable the entire month long; he’d sent a pigeon to let you know that he was alive, thank the Gods, but he hadn’t sent much else. He’d specifically told you not to write to him, as that would raise too many questions. The most you could hope for was that Tooru would mention him at breakfast, where you could inquire to Iwaizumi’s wellbeing without raising suspicion.

But now, he was home, and your heart was much lighter for it.

“How is your family?” You asked, tilting your head at him.

His jaw clenched for a fraction of a second. But you caught it.

“Is everything okay?” You asked.

“Everything is fine,” he nodded, steel in his voice. “They’re just… getting older.”

You knew little of his parents, and he never offered up any information about them. But the look on his face was enough to let you know he held them dear.

“How are you?” He asked, clearing his throat. Whatever was happening with his family, he didn’t want to say. You could fill this silence, if you must.

“Oh, well, there is much to tell,” you nodded, ushering him further into your room.

You sat him down at your table, placing yourself across from him.

And you talked. About what, you weren’t quite sure. Something trivial; about the little dramas happening between the household staff, about the last embarrassing encounter Tooru had with a prospective bride, about this season’s royal hunt.

It was all menial, but you hoped it would make him smile.

He wasn’t looking at you. Instead, he was gazing out the window, the golden light of the sunset dancing across his face. You wanted to tell him that, perhaps, he was the most beautiful man you’d ever laid eyes on. But you didn’t quite have the words.

There it was again. The burden of serenity. In that moment, he did not look a man of a mere twenty summers. No, he looked much older. Much wiser.

“Iwaizumi, are you okay?” You asked gently, touching his hand.

He sat there for a moment, completely silent. Still, he did not look at you.

Had you done something wrong? Had you said something awful in your little rambles? Had something horrible happened on his trip home?

“Do you think you could ever grow to be happy?”

What a strange question, you thought.

Something was off. The room felt darker, colder. Like it knew something you didn’t, and pitied you for it.

You stared at Iwaizumi, praying that he’d read between your words. And yet, some part of you knew he’d refuse to. “Well, I… I certainly hope so.”

Another silence. But this one was heavier. This one stuck to your lungs like smoke, choking out your voice. You wanted to shout through it, to be heard. Iwaizumi was sitting right there, just within reach; but it felt like you were all alone.

And yet, it didn’t seem to bother him.

“Well, then…” He took a deep breath, standing to his feet. “I shall take my leave.”

He made his way for the door, his shoulders softer than usual.

He wasn’t going to turn around.

“Iwaizumi!” You gasped, shooting over to him.

You didn’t know what you planned on doing. What you were so afraid of. But you grabbed his wrist.

He turned around in surprise, eyes wide as he looked down at you.

You stepped forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. You weren’t sure if you’d done it right. Maybe it was too clumsy. Maybe you’d embarrassed yourself.

But you knew it certainly wasn’t how you’d imagined your first kiss to go. You’d conjured a fantasy of moonlight and flowers, a declaration of love by a glittering lake. Not this. Not an act of desperation, driven by a fear you didn’t understand.

You moved back, looking up at him. What would he glean from your face? Dread? Regret? Desperation?

His own eyes held an unreadable storm within them. You wished he would talk to you, let you help soothe the tempest. But you knew well enough that Iwaizumi would never lay such a burden on anyone, even if they begged him to.

“Goodbye, your Highness.”

Something terrible dawned on you. Something you weren’t ready to accept.

But you let go of his wrist.

He didn’t linger.

You watched him go, your heart beating so fast you worried you might pass out. You didn’t understand what had just happened. But you knew one thing.

He hadn’t even used your name. 

✧ ✧

“He’s gone?” You hissed, leaning towards your brother.

Tooru had been positively despondent all morning. He hadn’t even touched his breakfast.

“He said this life was not right for him,” he mumbled, poking at his food with his fork. “I feel awful.”

“I’m sorry, Tooru.” You barely knew how to process this information. But your poor brother obviously needed comfort.

“No,” he shook his head. “No, not like that. Well – yes, I feel awful at having lost him. But… I cannot help but feel as if it were my fault.”

You frowned, sitting up a little straighter. “Why?”

“I brought him into his life,” Tooru swallowed. “Maybe if I had not been so selfish, then he would not…”

You didn’t know what to say. Tooru wasn’t one for regret. He preferred to turn that sort of feeling into anger, letting it push him past whatever mistake or failure he’d made. But not this time. Not when it came to Iwaizumi.

But he had been the reason Iwaizumi left home, all those years ago. It had been a family trip the country, just a week or so where your parents could ‘enjoy the scenery.’ They hadn’t expected Tooru to throw such a tantrum at the thought of being separated from the little commoner he’d befriended. He had demanded that the little boy come with him, as a treasured friend.

Iwaizumi’s parents had packed their son off in a heartbeat, urging him to take advantage of the secure future such a friendship offered him. He was much less likely to starve, cooped up in the walls of the castle.

But Iwaizumi had never quite settled, never quite become one with the rhythm of the castle. He had always seemed apart from it all, like he was somewhere else in his mind. Somewhere far away.

Oikawa felt guilty for forcing him into this life. You could tell.

“I am sure he greatly valued your friendship,” you said, hoping the lump in your throat wouldn’t choke your words. “And the opportunities you gave him.”

A long, laden pause. A shift in the air. Things going unsaid.

You’d felt like this before.

“He said he made a mistake,” Tooru broke the silence, eyes flicking up to you.

You had no idea if Tooru knew about you. Knew about your role in all this. How you’d complicated things for the poor boy.

“A mistake?”

“One he does not regret, apparently,” Tooru sighed, laying his cutlery on the table. “But a mistake, nonetheless.”

You bit your lip, looking down at your breakfast. “Well, wherever he is, I hope he’s happy.”

You won’t follow him. You won’t deny him this one chance to escape, to chase after something simpler. He didn’t need you; and you had failed. At what, you couldn’t quite say. But you hadn’t given him what he wanted. What he needed.

The only thing you could do was hope – no, pray for his happiness. For a happiness that you couldn’t bring him.

But years later, as you held your firstborn son in your arms, your mind wandered back to him. To the only man you had ever loved.

And you wondered if it would be remiss to call the baby in your arms by his name.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime imagine #iwaizumi x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuucreations #this was Hard to write #but slkdsjdlkj it's done with #sorry lads

[softlass27]

here we go, a little robron-ified fix-it fic to soothe my anger after this week’s episodes. there’s slight divergence in that i've had debbie and cain not leaving for scotland just yet, but other than that everything’s still canon!

AO3 link here

There was a building headache throbbing behind Robert’s eyelids and it was called Chas Dingle.

He’d been in the pub for what felt like an eternity, listening to his mother-in-law hold court behind the bar, rehashing the latest Charity-related drama in excruciating detail with the rest of the Dingles.

Apparently Aaron and Robert had missed a lot during their week-long holiday to Scotland with Seb. They’d only popped in to pick up a takeaway, but within seconds of stepping through the door they’d been roped into sitting with the group, had two pints set down in front of them and now they were well and truly stuck.

“I mean, this is a new low, even for Charity,” Chas lamented for what had to be the fifth time, shaking her head and gesturing to Paddy, who was standing close by to nod in agreement to everything she said. “We’re done with her. She’s a liability, I can’t work with her anymore. The sooner she gives up her half of the pub and lets Marlon buy her out, the better. And I won’t have her under my roof, either.”

“Well, I’d offer her my room now that I’m staying in Jacobs Fold, but Mandy would probably put up a fight,” Belle said with a shrug. “Besides, Dad says he doesn't want Charity there either.”

Robert thought it seemed a bit harsh of Zak to dictate who could or couldn’t stay in the cottage, considering he didn’t actually live there – or even in the village – anymore, but he kept that to himself. Getting involved in the debate would take more energy than he cared to use.

“Well, she’s not still living with us, that’s for sure,” Chas insisted, her mouth pursed into a thin line. “She’ll have to go.”

“I’d let her stay with me and April, but we don’t have room,” said Marlon, looking concerned. “Not with Billy and Ellis, too. And I don’t think she’ll want to, now that she knows I’m the one buying her out of the business.”

“Oh, I wasn’t hinting, Marlon, it’s fine. Frankly, I don’t give a damn where she goes.”

“Hm, she can sleep in a ditch for all I care,” Debbie sniffed, nose crinkling like there was a bad smell hovering around the bar.

“Alright Debs,” Cain grumbled quietly. “We get the picture.”

“It’s no less than she deserves!” Chas cried, quick to back Debbie up. Robert didn't know when it had happened, but the two of them seemed thick as thieves ever since Debbie had come back to the village.

“Oh, come on, you two,” Marlon said tiredly, rubbing his temples. “Charity’s gone through a lot these last few months, she’s been struggling ever since she lost Vanessa. Maybe we should be tryna help her instead of letting her self-destruct?”

Chas snorted, hand propped on her hip. “What, after she dropped Debbie in it with Al? And tried to sleep with him? After what she did to our Noah?”

“What, stopping him from being daft enough to join the army while hiding a life-threatening medical condition?” Robert snapped before he could stop himself, his patience hanging by the thinnest thread. “Wow, better call social services.”

He found himself on the receiving end of a very familiar glare, Chas’s nostrils flaring as she looked at him with disdain.

“I was actually referring to the slap she gave him,” she said lowly. “Were you not listening?”

“No, not really,” Robert muttered into his pint, earning himself a small snort from Aaron.

As the Dingles continued bemoaning the current situation, Robert nudged his husband and leaned over to whisper in his ear.

“Can we please get the hell out of here? I can’t take much more of this.”

Aaron sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Still need the takeaway, I’ve been dyin’ for this burger.”

“Do you see Marlon going to the kitchen anytime soon?”

“Oi, Marlon!” Aaron barked, making the taller man jump. “How much longer for the food? We’re starving.”

“Oh, er, Luke’s in the kitchen, he’s sorting it.”

“Great,” Robert groaned, the pain in his head increasing. “They’ll probably be burnt to a crisp if that idiot’s the one making them.”

“Fuck it, let’s just finish these pints and go, pick up some pizzas from David’s or summat,” Aaron muttered, scowling when Paddy’s voice joined the heated discussion.

“I don’t care if she’s regrets it, she’s pushed things too far this time,” he said decisively, arms folded to match Chas’s. Robert absently wondered if he had a nice view up there on his high horse.

“I know what she did was terrible,” Lydia piped up. “And I’m not impressed with her myself. But she seems genuinely sorry, I’m sure she’d do anything to fix things.”

“Yeah, but that’s her all over, isn’t it? Act first, feel bad about it later,” Debbie drawled, swigging back her glass of white wine. “Honestly, I don’t know why any of us are surprised. She’s always been selfish, Noah deserves better.”

“Sure you’re not just sore about losing all that cash you nicked?” Robert asked, brows raised.

Debbie just narrowed her eyes at him and carried on talking. “I can’t see Noah giving her another chance, not after this.”

Chas nodded in agreement. “Even if the poor lad wanted to forgive her, I wouldn’t let him.”

“Maybe just let Noah and Charity sort things out for themselves,” Marlon tried, but that just had Chas’s finger flying up to silence him.

“No, I’m sorry, Marlon, but this is the final straw. I mean, we all know Charity’s never been a perfect mother but slapping him was a step too far. Some things are just unforgivable.”

“Bit rich coming from you.” Aaron’s quiet interjection swiftly brought the conversation to an abrupt halt.

After a brief pause, Chas’s head swivelled to look at Aaron in confusion, clearly uncertain as to whether she was the one he’d been addressing.

“Sorry, what?”

Aaron shrugged. “Just sayin’, if smacking your kid around’s an unforgivable offence, bad enough to get you kicked out the family, you probably shouldn’t be here. You and me wouldn’t even be talking right now.”

Robert held his breath and watched as Chas froze. He was aware of some of the altercations between Aaron and his mum in recent years. Aaron had told him during one of the many nights they'd spent curled up together, sharing all their memories, thoughts and secrets, about some of the things she’d said and done. Like slapping him in the face when she found out about their affair, for one.

Now, he could see some of those events playing out in her memory as she floundered, eyes darting nervously between Aaron and the rest of the family, who were all watching the pair in silence.

“Aaron, you and me, we’ve… I know we’ve had our ups and downs over the last few years, had our fair share of rows, lashed out… And I’m sorry, but that’s different, we’re both adults. Noah’s just a kid.”

“And what about when I was a kid?”

Robert stiffened at the words, and he quickly turned to look at Aaron’s hunched profile. That, he knew nothing about. Aaron’s face remained impassive, giving nothing away.

“What’s this?” Cain said, frowning.

Chas stared at him for a moment, before turning back to Aaron with a slightly bewildered laugh.

“I've got no idea. What’re you on about, love?”

“When I was, what, 11? 12? You hit me then, too.”

“No.” She shook her head quickly, before speaking over the sound of a few surprised intakes of breath from the group. “No, that can’t be right, you didn’t even live here when you were 12.”

“It was when I was visiting,” Aaron said. “Course the family weren’t there to see that one like they saw Charity and Noah. It was just the two of us, back there – ” He pointed towards the back of the pub. “ – in the kitchen. No witnesses.”

Robert saw the exact moment a flicker of recognition appeared in Chas’s eyes.

“Oh… ”

“Coming back to you now, is it?”

“Chas, is that true?” Lydia asked, looking shocked.

Chas ignored her in favour of staring at Aaron with wide eyes, caught off guard. “Oh love, that – that wasn’t – ”

“You had a go at me for not wanting to stay with you or preferring Sandra to you, I dunno. Can’t remember now. But I do remember you tellin’ me I ‘didn’t deserve a mother’ and then slapping me across the face. It left a mark.”

Robert's hands clenched on the bar as red hot anger rapidly surged through his body, and he glared furiously as Chas. She looked around helplessly, turning to Paddy for support. He just opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, looking lost and uncomfortable at the unexpected turn of events.

“Christ’s sake, Chas,” Cain grumbled from his spot next to Debbie, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“I’m – I didn’t – ”

“I was probably being a bit of a little shit to be fair,” Aaron cut off her stammering with a rueful smile. “Mouthing off – like Noah was doing to Charity, from the sounds of it.”

“Aaron love… I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise you still – that you were still upset about that… ”

“I’m not,” said Aaron, matter-of-fact. Robert believed him, too. He knew his husband well enough to tell when he was lying or putting on a brave face to hide his hurt. This wasn’t one of those times. He wasn’t upset, he was frustrated.

“I’m not after an apology, this ain’t about me. All I’m sayin’ is, you might wanna take a look at that big glass house of yours, before you start chucking stones at Charity for doing the exact same thing you did to me more than once.”

He drained the last dregs of his pint and slid off the bar stool.

“You’re the last person who should be judging someone for making mistakes with their kids. I should know.” Aaron cast a quick glance over the group. “Same goes for the lot of you.”

Cain and Marlon had the grace to look somewhat sheepish, while Belle looked down awkwardly. Debbie just huffed and took another gulp of wine. Aaron rolled his eyes and grabbed his coat, shoving his arms in the sleeves.

“Robert, give Charity a ring, would you? Tell her we’ve got a spare room with her name on it.”

Robert pulled his phone out of his pocket. “My pleasure.”

“Er, no, hang on!” Debbie snapped, a hand flying up to halt them. “We’ve already agreed she’s not part of the family anymore, it’s decided.”

“I didn’t agree to anythin’,” Aaron snapped right back. “You wanna fall out with Charity, that’s your business. It’s got nowt to do with us.”

“Besides,” Robert waved his phone in the air with a smirk. “I’m technically the one inviting her and since I’m not a Dingle, your weird little rules don’t apply to me. Thank god.”

“Come on, Rob, let’s go.”

“Aaron no, get back here, this needs sorting! Aaron!”

Aaron ignored Chas’s protesting shrieks and started walking towards the door. Robert began to follow him, before pausing and turning back to the group, zeroing in on Debbie.

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but it wasn’t that long ago you were tryna do her in – ” He gestured to Chas. “ – for shagging your bloke while you were still with him. Threatened her with a… shotgun, was it?”

Debbie’s mouth twisted in displeasure.

“You weren’t even here then!” Chas cried, jaw hanging open in outrage. “That is none of your – ”

“If you can get past that,” Robert spoke over her. “Then you can stop calling Charity the devil for nearly-but-not sleeping with your scumbag ex. Get over yourself.”

Aaron touched the small of his back. “Come on. If we start listing everything this lot have ever done wrong, we’ll be here all night.”

They stalked out of the pub without a backward glance. As they stepped out onto the street, Robert exhaled heavily.

“Always fun catching up with your family.”

Aaron huffed a small laugh and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Didn’t even get our food after all that.”

He made to start walking towards David’s, but stopped when Robert gently touched his arm.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, m’fine.”

Robert hesitated, fingers curling on Aaron’s sleeve.

“You… never told me about that. That she hit you when you were… ” He trailed off uncertainly, not wanting to sound accusing, like Aaron owed him an explanation.

Aaron hummed and turned to face him, their bodies naturally swaying into each other.

“Haven’t thought about it in ages, if I’m honest. Not for years.”

“I’m sorry.”

For all Aaron said he was fine, that Chas’s actions from 20 years ago didn’t bother him anymore, Robert knew from his own experience the lingering scars that kind of event could leave.

“It’s okay.” Aaron gave him a small smile and pulled him in for a soft kiss.

They stayed like that for a few moments, until Robert’s phone buzzed in his hand. He pulled away regretfully to read the words on the screen.

“It’s Diane. She says she’s with Charity, found her crying in the gazebo.”

Aaron sighed and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Come on, then. Let’s go get her.”

Robert fired a quick text to Diane, telling her they were on their way, before slinging an arm over Aaron’s shoulders as they started walking.

“We’re really gonna have Charity as a housemate again, then?” He asked with a teasing grin.

Aaron groaned and leaned into him. “Looks that way. But if she pervs on us in the shower again, she's out on her ear.”

Robert winced as that particular memory came rushing to the surface.

“God help us.”

#the dingles can choke #chas especially #charity deserves better #i might write a little followup with her in the mill #robron #my writing #also the incident aaron referred to happened on 20th feb 2004 #the episode is on youtube!

[wolfontheloose]

💻 for a boarding school au

"Oi. Isn't that the new exchange student over there? That him, right?"

Ryden raised his impassive steel colored eyes to take a curious peek as one of the punks in his gang pointed out with mocking excitement, misdemeanor disguised behind the proper navy blue uniform. He was surrounded by the lot, his little rich British upper class uni pals, all upstanding lads whose dear old dads had the world in their pockets and the dough to spin it every which way they wanted. Ryden, on the other hand, was a Rhodes scholar, born poor but lucky, winning the educational lottery after his mum applied him without his knowledge or consent for a scholarship open to charity cases from the Commonwealth of Nations and the U.S.

What a fortunate leap from reconstruction project buildings of the brutalist council estate west of South Hampstead rail station to the thousand year old and some university's residential quarters, looking like a boring, magicless version of Hogwarts. It was wasted on him because Ryden never intended to finish his education there. You see, he found his vocation already - a naughty one. And he was quite good at it.

The demand was great and he had the brains and the means to meet it, dealing dirty wonder weed to those lucky bastards who, unlike him, had all the right in the world to bask in the aristocratic glory of rich, privileged youth. Everyone had their place and Ryden Douglas Bolt had found his in the most unexpected of corners. Did it make him feel like a bit of a lowlife in comparison? Yes, it did, but the feeling was negligible in the shadow of his ambition. They can have their prim and proper school uniforms, guaranteed high profile jobs after graduation and a promised, unshakable position amongst the crème de la crème of posh, stuck-up academic society. He will have the dark and gritty, the dimly lit alleyways smelling of piss and sewage, the dirty wads of blood money and all the stolen cars in the world that will take him to all the strip clubs and offices acting as a front to his expanded network of illegal businesses. Once he puts on his adult shoes that is, and starts walking down that wrong, bad road.

With those dark thoughts on his mind, the latest gossip about the new exchange student was nothing more than an afterthought, a background noise made by idlers loitering around him. They had nothing better to do than spill the tea, their lives too privileged to be truly meaningful and not stuck on trivialities like survival. Ryden stared at the new kid on the block approaching the group, looking through him rather than at him, undoubtedly giving off a 'do not trespass' vibe although the huge faculty and student parking lot was a free roaming area as long as you had a personalized parking permit and a vehicle to use it for.

Leaning against the driver's door of a bright orange 1973 Chevrolet Camaro, decorated with twin black stripes over the hood - a delightful classic piece he'd pawned off a fellow classmate and a client behind on some well overdue payments for his 'services' and keeping the exchange secret from his family who would undoubtedly be stunned and outraged if they found out the details on why his father's precious sixteenth birthday gift was no longer in their dear little Toby's possession - Ryden welcomed the newcomer with his trademark predatory grin, full of sharp teeth and cheap cigarette smoke.

"Um... excuse me but, uh... could you let me know which of these buildings is a... umm..." The kid trailed off, teddy bear softness facing Ryden's wolfish sharpness. The idea that he might've chosen to ask the wrong crowd was dawning on him, slowly but surely, and it was painfully visible in his dark eyes, quickly lowered to hide his hesitation. Ryden could hear a derisive snort coming from someone hovering a bit further left from him, using his Camaro's trunk as a perch.

"Speak up mate, what're you stutterin' for, pshh." Another one chortled, emboldened by the strength in numbers. Ryden rolled his eyes, tossing the spent cigarette away with a flick of his deft fingers. "The dorms?" He asked, drowning a rising wave of sniggers with his crisp, deep baritone that was well ahead of his still developing physique. He had noticed a moderately sized suitcase trailing behind the new kid on wheels, packed so full that he probably had to sit on it to force it to zip up.

The exchange student nodded enthusiastically, his unruly dark curls bouncing against the top of his head, eyes glimmering with hope of acceptance despite the awkwardness of the lame first introductions. Ryden's expression softened deceptively, a sleazy entrepreneur rubbing his hands together at the prospect of a new business opportunity. He pushed off the closed door of his Camaro, taking unhurried strides towards the new kid.

"American, right?" All Americans are rich, yeah? They have to be, that's the American dream. Ryden's hungry wolf grin widened when he reached the boy, an arm snaking around his shoulders in a welcoming, let-me-take-you-under-my-wing manner, coaxing him gently to turn around and follow. "What's yer name, bruv?"

"Hastalik! Hastalik Avci b-but... you can call me Has!" The kid beamed and it bounced off Ryden's bulletproof, hard surface which covered him from head to toe, impervious to innocence and goodness and leaving no cracks of weakness in the armor.

"Has..." He purred, getting into his face, nose almost poking into Hastalik's cheek. He had to hand it to the kid, he was handling the feeling of something going so terribly wrong really very well. "Lemme show ya around." He squeezed out sweetly, the hold he kept on Has tightening like a snare. "By the way... Do you puff?"

@hastalikhunts

#::RydenxHastalik #::DrabbleTime #::BoardingSchoolAU #I have no idea how boarding schools work so I took some creative liberties lol #Also if you recognized it yes I am stealing shit from the Gentlemen namely Michael Pearson's background :D #because that's a damn good movie #drugs tw #crime tw #smoking tw

[mjvnivsbrvtvs]

hi! so we have established at this point that you have A Lot Of thoughts about antony and brutus. but how does caesar (julius, not the little bitch octavian) play into that? bc like. my knowledge and impression of them is very limited and mainly constructed from watching hbo rome and idk. i think it'd be fun to throw caesar in the mix. love all the art and writing on your blog btw! have a nice day.

Hey, okay! So this used to be over 30 pages long (Machiavelli and Caligula got involved and that's when things got out of hand), but through the power of friendship and two late night writing dates fueled by coffee, I’ve cut it way down to under 10. Many thanks to the people who listened to me ramble about it at length, and also to a dear friend for helping me cut this down to under ten pages!

Also, thank you! I'm glad you enjoy the stuff I make! It makes me very happy to hear that!

And quickly, a Disclaimer: I’m not an academic, I’m not a classicist, I’m not a historian, and I spend a lot of time very stressed out that I’ve tricked people into thinking I’m someone who has any kind of merit in this area. It's probably best to treat this as an abstract character analysis!

On the other hand, I love talking about dead men, so, with enthusiasm, here we go!

For this, I’m going to cut Shakespeare and HBO Rome out of the framework and focus more on a historical spin.

Caesar is a combination of a manipulator and a catalyst. A Bad Omen. The remaining wound that’s poisoning Rome.

Cassius gets a lot of the blame for Brutus’ turn to assassination, but it overlooks that Brutus was already inclined towards political ambition, as were most men involved in the political landscape of the time.

Furthermore, although Sulla had actually raised the number of praetorships available from six to eight, there were still only two consulships available. There was always the chance that death or disgrace might remove some of the competition and hence ease the bottleneck. But, otherwise, it was at the top of the ladder that the competition was particularly fierce: whereas in previous years one in three praetors would have gone on to become consul, from the 80s BC onwards the chances were one in four. For the senators who had made it this far, it mattered that they should try to achieve their consulship in the earliest year allowed to them by law. To fail in this goal once was humiliating; to fail at the polls twice would be deemed a signal disgrace for a man like Brutus.

Kathryn Tempest, Brutus the Noble Conspirator

The way Caesar offered Brutus political power the way that he did, and Brutus accepting it, locked them into the assassination outcome.

Here is a man who’s built his entire image around honor and liberty and virtu, around being a staunch defender of morals and the republic

In these heated circumstances, Brutus composed a bitter tract On the Dictatorship of Pompey (De Dictatura Pompei), in which he staunchly opposed the idea of giving Pompey such a position of power. ‘It is better to rule no one than to be another man’s slave’, runs one of the only snippets of this composition to survive today: ‘for one can live honourably without power’, Brutus explained, ‘but to live as a slave is impossible’. In other words, Brutus believed it would be better for the Senate to have no imperial power at all than to have imperium and be subject to Pompey’s whim.

Kathryn Tempest, Brutus the Noble Conspirator

and you give him political advancement, but without the honor needed for this advancement to mean anything?

At the same time, however, Brutus had gained his position via extremely un-republican means: appointment by a dictator rather than election by the people. As the name of the famous career path, the cursus honorum, suggests, political office was perceived as an honour at Rome. But it was one which had to be bestowed by the populus Romanus in recognition of a man’s dignitas.69 In other words, a man’s ‘worth’ or ‘standing’ was only really demonstrated by his prior services to the state and his moral qualities, and that was what was needed to gain public recognition. Brutus had got it wrong. As Cicero not too subtly reminded him in the treatise he dedicated to Brutus: ‘Honour is the reward for virtue in the considered opinion of the citizenry.’ But the man who gains power (imperium) by some other circumstance, or even against the will of the people, he continues, ‘has laid his hands only on the title of honour, but it is not real honour’.70

Brutus may have secured political office, then, but he had not done so honourably; nor had he acted in a manner that would earn him a reputation for virtue or everlasting fame.

Kathryn Tempest, Brutus the Noble Conspirator

Brutus in the image that he fashioned for himself was not compatible with the way Caesar was setting him up to be a political successor, and there was really never going to be any other outcome than the one that happened.

The Brutus of Shakespeare and Plutarch’s greatest tragedy was that he was pushed into something he wouldn’t have done otherwise. The Brutus of history’s greatest tragedy was accepting Caesar’s forgiveness after the Caesar-Pompey conflict, and then selling out for political ambition, because Caesar's forgiveness is not benevolent.

Rather than have his enemies killed, he offered them mercy or clemency -- clementia in Latin. As Caesar wrote to his advisors, “Let this be our new method of conquering -- to fortify ourselves by mercy and generosity.” Caesar pardoned most of his enemies and forbore confiscating their property. He even promoted some of them to high public office.

This policy won him praise from no less a figure than Marcus Tullius Cicero, who described him in a letter to Aulus Caecina as “mild and merciful by nature.” But Caecina knew a thing or two about dictators, since he’d had to publish a flattering book about Caesar in order to win his pardon after having opposed him in the civil war. Caecina and other beneficiaries of Caesar’s unusual clemency took it in a far more ambivalent way. To begin with, most of them were, like Caesar, Roman nobles. Theirs was a culture of honor and status; asking a peer for a pardon was a serious humiliation. So Caesar’s “very power of granting favors weighed heavily on free people,” as Florus, a historian and panegyrist of Rome, wrote about two centuries after the dictator’s death. One prominent noble, in fact, ostentatiously refused Caesar’s clemency. Marcius Porcius Cato, also known as Cato the Younger, was a determined opponent of populist politics and Caesar’s most bitter foe. They had clashed years earlier over Caesar’s desire to show mercy to the Catiline conspirators; Cato argued vigorously for capital punishment and convinced the Senate to execute them. Now he preferred death to Caesar’s pardon. “I am unwilling to be under obligations to the tyrant for his illegal acts,” Cato said; he told his son, "I, who have been brought up in freedom, with the right of free speech, cannot in my old age change and learn slavery instead.

-Barry Strauss, Caesar and the Dangers of Forgiveness

something else that's a fun adjacent to the topic that's fun to think about:

The link between ‘sparing’ and ‘handing over’ is common in the ancient world.763 Paul also uses παραδίδωμι again, denoting ‘hand over, give up a person’ (Bauer et al. 2000:762).764 The verb παραδίδωμι especially occurs in connection with war (Eschner 2010b:197; Gaventa 2011:272).765 However, in Romans 8:32, Paul uses παραδίδωμι to focus on a court image (Eschner 2010b:201).766 Christina Eschner (2010b:197) convincingly argues that Paul’s use of παραδίδωμι refers to the ‘Hingabeformulierungen’ as the combination of the personal object of the handing over of a person in the violence of another person, especially the handing over of a person to an enemy.767 Moreover, Eschner (2009:676) convincingly argues that Isaiah 53 is not the pre-tradition for Romans 8:32.

Annette Potgieter, Contested Body: Metaphors of dominion in Romans 5-8

Along with the internal conflict of Pompey, the murderer of Brutus’ father, and Caesar, the figurehead for everything that goes against what Brutus stands for, Brutus accepting Caesar’s forgiveness isn’t an act of benevolence, regardless of Caesar’s intentions.

On wards, Caesar owns Brutus. Caesar benefits from having Brutus as his own, he inherits Brutus’ reputation, he inherits a better PR image in the eyes of the Roman people. On wards, nothing Brutus does is without the ugly stain of Caesar. His career is no longer his own, his life is no longer fully his own, his legacy is no longer entirely his. Brutus becomes a man divided.

And it’s not like it was an internal struggle, it was an entire spectacle. Hypocrisy is theatrical. Call yourself a man of honor and then you sell out? The people of Rome will remember that, and they’re going to make sure you know it.

After this certain men at the elections proposed for consuls the tribunes previously mentioned, and they not only privately approached Marcus Brutus and such other persons as were proud-spirited and attempted to persuade them, but also tried to incite them to action publicly. 12 1 Making the most of his having the same name as the great Brutus who overthrew the Tarquins, they scattered broadcast many pamphlets, declaring that he was not truly that man's descendant; for the older Brutus had put to death both his sons, the only ones he had, when they were mere lads, and left no offspring whatever. 2 Nevertheless, the majority pretended to accept such a relationship, in order that Brutus, as a kinsman of that famous man, might be induced to perform deeds as great. They kept continually calling upon him, shouting out "Brutus, Brutus!" and adding further "We need a Brutus." 3 Finally on the statue of the early Brutus they wrote "Would that thou wert living!" and upon the tribunal of the living Brutus (for he was praetor at the time and this is the name given to the seat on which the praetor sits in judgment) "Brutus, thou sleepest," and "Thou art not Brutus."

Cassius Dio

Brutus knew. Cassius knew. Caesar knew. You can’t escape your legacy when you’re the one who stamped it on coins.

Caesar turned Brutus into the dagger that would cut, and Brutus himself isn’t free from this injury. It’s a mutual betrayal, a mutual dooming.

By this time Caesar found himself being attacked from every side, and as he glanced around to see if he could force a way through his attackers, he saw Brutus closing in upon him with his dagger drawn. At this he let go of Casca’s hand which he had seized, muffled up his head in his robe, and yielded up his body to his murderers’ blows. Then the conspirators flung themselves upon him with such a frenzy of violence, as they hacked away with their daggers, that they even wounded one another. Brutus received a stab in the hand as he tried to play his part in the slaughter, and every one of them was drenched in blood.

Plutarch

For Antony, Caesar is a bad sign.

Brutus and Antony are fucked over by the generation they were born in, etc etc the cannibalization of Rome on itself, the Third Servile War was the match to the gasoline already on the streets of Rome, the last generation of Romans etc etc etc. They are counterparts to each other, displaced representatives of a time already gone by the time they were alive.

Rome spends its years in a state of civil war after civil war, political upheaval, and death. Neither Brutus or Antony will ever really know stability, as instability is hallmark of the times. Both of them are at something of a disadvantage, although Brutus has what Antony does not, and what Brutus has is what let’s him create his own career. Until Caesar, Brutus is owned by no one.

This is not the case for Antony.

You can track Antony’s life by who he’s attached to. Very rarely is he ever truly a man unto himself, there is always someone nearby.

In his youth, it is said, Antony gave promise of a brilliant future, but then he became a close friend of Curio and this association seems to have fallen like a blight upon his career. Curio was a man who had become wholly enslaved to the demands of pleasure, and in order to make Antony more pliable to his will, he plunged him into a life of drinking bouts, love-affairs, and reckless spending. The consequence was that Antony quickly ran up debts of an enormous size for so young a man, the sum involved being two hundred and fifty talents. Curio provided security for the whole of this amount, but his father heard of it and forbade Antony his house. Antony then attached himself for a short while to Clodius, the most notorious of all the demagogues of his time for his lawlessness and loose-living, and took part in the campaigns of violence which at that time were throwing political affairs at Rome into chaos.

Plutarch

(although, in contrast to Brutus, we rarely lose sight of Antony. As a person, we can see him with a kind of clarity, if one looks a little bit past the Augustan propaganda. He is, at all times, human.)

Antony being figuratively or literally attached to a person starts early, and continues politically. While Brutus has enough privilege to brute force his way into politics despite Cicero’s lamentation of a promising life being thrown off course, Antony will instead follow a different career path that echoes in his personal life and defines his relationships.

Whereas some young men often attached or indebted themselves to a patron or a military leader at the beginning of their political lives,

Kathryn Tempest, Brutus the Noble Conspirator

+

3. During his stay in Greece he was invited by Gabinius, a man of consular rank, to accompany the Roman force which was about to sail for Syria. Antony declined to join him in a private capacity, but when he was offered the command of the cavalry he agreed to serve in the campaign.

Plutarch

To take it a step further, it even defines how he’s perceived today looking back: it’s never just Antony, it’s always Antony and---

It can be read as someone being taken advantage of, in places, survival in others, especially in Antony's early life. Other times, it appears like Antony himself is the one who manipulates things to his favor, casting aside people and realigning himself back to an advantage.

or when he saw an opportunity for faster advancement, he was willing to place the blame on a convenient scapegoat or to disregard previous loyalties, however important they had been. His desertion of Fulvia's memory in 40, and, much later, of Lepidus, Sextus Pompey, and Octavia, produced significant political gains. This characteristic, which Caesar discovered to his cost in 47, gives the sharp edge to Antony's personality which Syme's portrait lacks, especially when he attributes Antony's actions to a 'sentiment of loyalty' or describes him as a 'frank and chivalrous soldier'. In this context, one wonders what became of Fadia.19

Kathryn E Welch , Antony, Fulvia, and the Ghost of Clodius in 47 B.C.

Caesar inherits Antony, and like Brutus, locks him in for a doomed ending.

The way Caesar writes about Antony smacks of someone viewing another person as something more akin to a dog, and it carries over until it’s bitter conclusion.

Caesar benefits from Antony immensely. The people love Antony, the military loves Antony. He’s charming, he’s self aware, he’s good at what he does. Above all of that, he has political ambitions of a similar passion as Brutus.

Antony drew some political benefit from his genial personality. Even Cicero, who from at least 49 did not like him,15 was prepared to regard some of his earlier misdemeanours as harmless.16 Bluff good humour, moderate intelligence, at least a passing interest in literature, and an ability to be the life and soul of a social gathering all contributed to make him a charming companion and to bind many important people to him. He had a lieutenant's ability to follow orders and a willingness to listen to advice, even (one might say especially) from intelligent women.17 These attributes made Antony able to handle some situations very well."1

There was a more important side to his personality, however, which contributed to his political survival. Antony was ruthless in his quest for pre-eminence

Kathryn E Welch , Antony, Fulvia, and the Ghost of Clodius in 477 B.C.

None of this matters, because after all Antony does for Caesar

Plutarch's comment that Curio brought Antony into Caesar's camp is surely mistaken.59 Anthony had been serving as Caesar's officer from perhaps as early as 53, after his return from Syria.60 He is described as legatus in late 52,61 and was later well known as Caesar's quaestor.62 It is more likely that the reverse of the statement is true, that Antony assisted in bringing Curio over to Caesar. If this were so, then he performed a signal service for Caesar, for gaining Curio meant attaching Fulvia, who provided direct access to the Clodian clientela in the city. Such valuable political connections served to increase Antony's standing with Caesar, and to set him apart from other officers in his army.63

Kathryn E Welch , Antony, Fulvia, and the Ghost of Clodius in 477 B.C.

Caesar still, for whatever reasons, fucks over Antony spectacularly with the will. Loyalty is repaid with dismissal, and it will bury the Republic for good.

It’s not enough for Caesar to screw him over just once, it becomes generational and ugly. Caesar lives on through Octavian: it becomes Octavian’s brand, his motif, propaganda wielded like a knife. Octavian, thanks to Caesar, will bring Antony to his bitter conclusion

And for my "bitter" conclusion, I’ll sign off by saying that there are actual scholars on Antony who are more well versed than I am who can go into depth about the Caesar-Octavian-Antony dynamic (and how it played out with Caligula) better than I can, and scholarship on Brutus consists mostly of looking at an outline of a man and trying to guess what the inside was like.

At the end of the day, Caesar was the instigator, active manipulator, and catalyst for the final act of the Republic.

I hope that this was at least entertaining to read!

#i cut out A Lot and its thanks to the patience of Friends that i got it down to the length that it is #like i cannot stress enough that i worked machiavelli into this and started dissecting the whole #brutus-cassius conflict with the framework that it was orchestrated by caesar #typically tho i tend to treat caesar as a symbolic device. a representation of something Very Wrong #this is a tag for asks