#arthur and the children || bilge rat and his bouncing baby bilge rats

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Arthur as Matt's parent is so funny because when discussing them with humans he's trying so hard to make them all sound respectable even now. And he fails.

One child can be discussed as a NASA engineer and astronaut, one is baked, one is a wildlife rehabilitation veterinarian and one is probably a neurosurgeon. Arthur's struggling so much like "He's a conch of a lad.... And plays hockey sometimes?"

Zero ambition. Mediocre Williams. His only goal is to get some sleep. The only high scores he has to his name are two kinds of body counts. He hasn't produced organic serotonin in 60 years. Yes, King, give us absolutely nothing. Fucking loser. I love him so much.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Can I ask why Arthur is your exception to what is otherwise your bisexuality rule? You've shown other relationships besides fruk so I'm curious.

Women deserve better. Jk I do think he's bi, I kind of like engbel especially but much its because my universe stems into the 1980s and Nancy Reagan probably would have tried to gob on some lime and salt nuts if she'd caught a vibe and it's just better for everyone if there are no vibes to catch. He's just sliding towards the mlm version of the Kinsey scale. Also I think I've been really influenced by how there's this really fascinating string of real people in history who were considered very effete, think dandies or Oscar Wilde types. And they were suspected of sexual activities that were then very illegal. Except sometimes they have a shit ton of rumored bastards and that could often keep them off the radar or out of jail.

I've read the archival material of a lot of men right into modern times who would have a very fake but very intense looking romance with a dying woman who was often their very good friend so he could go a good twenty years before anyone bothered him about producing heirs like "oh the poor man lost his great love let us leave him alone to mourn in his sad bachelor state." Like yeah nah he's been living with his boarding school blow buddy for 30 years. Or gay men who would marry widows quite a bit older than them, adopt her children and spare themselves the act of reproduction. Then be described as being inseparable from their valet who apparently saved their life in the Crimean war or some shit. (They're gay.) In a lot of times and places in history, it was the rejection of the bourgeois respectability and the social responsibility to marry and reproduce that was unacceptable rather than just same-sex love. Or to have children and a household was a very powerful shield against social exclusion or legal punishment.

So yeah, the prickly question of Arthur's sexuality and how it effected family life occupies my brain a lot and not just my shitposts about Matt sleeping in the barn because his parents are railing lmao. How it makes his children, especially Alfred but all of them, social currency. How creating this illusion of a family life forms them and keeps them safe as almost-human creatures with almost human rules in a human world with human rules.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

25 but specifically for Matthew and Arthur?

25) What other people wish they could change about them

Oh, this one's got some kick. Matt just... God, he wishes Arthur had been just a tiny bit less severe about sucking it up. When Matthew was procured with the rest of the unholy money sink of Canada, Arthur was quite cold. He wasn't cruel but Matt isn't it his. He treats him with the same regard as any random child. He generally likes children but he has one of his own and this little shit is pure 100% distilled François by his measure. He doesn't expect to keep him, much less raise him. The reality that he would end up with him but not Alfred under his roof was unfathomable until the ink was dry on the 1783 Treaty of Paris.

François succeeded with "a son for a son" and Arthur ends up with the one neither of them prefer. So many of the reasons he loses Alfred trace back to Matt. And ignoring him was the best thing he could do. He's not treated particularly bleakly by the standards of the day. He was fed, clothed, and Arthur even acknowledged his existence once in a while but oof, Matt was practically stoned on joy when someone even so much as said his name. He would try silly little things like making conversation or tagging along or just trying to be in the same room. He'd fall asleep in random places and occasionally Arthur would wake him and send him to bed and Matt would sleepily try to snuggle against him and be gently shaken off and told to go find his bed. It annoyed Arthur to high heaven. Combine the influx of loyalists with that breaking him down so much in this period, really grinding him down to little more importance than dirt for the orchids in the green house, Arthur kind of creates the ideal conditions to reprogram Matt. He builds practically the perfect imperial lackey from the ground up. If there was much left of François in his personality, it was largely gone by the time Jack came along. Matt's an anxiety disorder with a nice swirl of people pleasing for flavour more than he is a person.

He's the "easy" child. He never has wants or needs. He goes outside to cry, he curls up and minds his own damn business when he's unwell. He takes his semi-annual pat on the head and makes it last. His own personality and wants only spurt up with his temper flares. He explodes and is more than willing to inflict violence wherever he sees it as his duty to do so. He grows up with his individuality in some negligible margin of his own personality. He becomes a force within the British empire in his own right. He does, eventually, develope a personality that's more somewhere in between who he is and who he needs to be. But he's everything Arthur could ever want in a son. He's still not Alfred, but he's everything anyone could ask him to be. He's easy. He's never a burden, he never complains. He does what he's told and far more.

Fast forward to imperial decline. Matt makes what is in some ways, the transition from Arthur's imperial lackey to Alfred's imperial lackey. But in others, he is properly, really independent this time. And now he's kind of got a dad he can push back on, who he can complain too, who he can let... Parent him. He has a partner who wants to support him. He's standing there with probably the best support network any country could ask for. And he doesn't know what the fuck to do with any of it. He feels plenty free to push back, to disagree. He can build a coalition, negotiate left right and centre. But ask for help? Affection? God no. He'll gnaw his own arm off rather than ask for a hand.

Just like Arthur wanted 200 years ago.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

—From Albion's Seed: Four British Folkways in America, pg. 306.

If you've ever wondered where my characterization of Arthur and Alfred comes from lol

[historia-vitae-magistras]

best piece of advice Arthur has given each of his children respectively. GO!

"Charm will take you places where a ship cannot."

"Don't piss off your brother."

"Put in the work before you expect respect."

"I'm older than Christianity. If something is labeled women's work it's probably because it's integral to being human."

[historia-vitae-magistras]

How are Jack and Arthur in modern day? I feel like Jack would be a little bit of a daddy’s boy

Jack takes revenge for the Bodyline series every time they play backyard cricket.

But they do play that backyard cricket. Sometimes, we have this image of Alfred as the rebel, the free thinker, the 'real' protagonist of any story, but any story is complicated, including Jack's and Arthur's role. He is the product of his father; he can't look at his money or his flag or into a mirror and not see whose son he is. But he's also much more than that, pooled from so many places. Who he is as an individual. Like they have some of their music tastes and a lot of their sports in common, it does mean a lot when Arthur says something proud to Jack. There's a tenderness there, especially on Arthur's part, but of Arthur's three sons, he's arguably the one with the most challenging relationship. He got neither the devoted but extremely fucked up version of Arthur Alfred's childhood got nor is he highly motivated by abandonment issues like Matt. He wants things from Arthur, but he's been incredibly independent-minded from a very young age with a strong sense of himself. He knew the key to respect and prestige was his father's love, and so, of course, he wanted it, but as he grew up after WW2, that faded and failed. He's the third child, and unintentionally, after Arthur was done with the settler colonialism projects of the first empire. He never got a whole hell of a lot of priority or thought until Canada made a stink and raised the three of them to the status of dominion.

If you look at the products of British imperialism, it's easiest for Jack to look at himself and what produced him. There is no treaty or a third cultural blend of empire and indigenous like the Metis. A whole hell of a lot of penal deportees and a face that looks most like his father's when he's angry. The most visible parts of his inheritance in himself as a person are the negative ones. And he knows that. So, no relationship he has with his father will be free of those things.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

in a reverse question, what does Arthur think of his kids' relationships? to me he is the type that seems to not care at all but is actually aware of *everything* thanks to the gossip web that is Europe and just silently judges

He keeps an eye on things lol yes. Britain provided a lot of the global intelligence structure. Man's over here using five eyes to make sure his children aren't too deep in the shit. He keeps a light eye on what Alfred's doing to make sure no massive political realignments are about to emerge and keeps the longer term partners in the fold and generally just tries to not hear too much detail. Plus he's been known to do a little matchmaking.

Matt completely missed the Potsdam Conference and coming back to quarters with a back scraped to shit from fucking in rubble and hickeys all over the place and smelling like vodka? Well that won't do. Can't be fucking the Soviet Union's sister. Besides, the lads been making googly eyes at that tall green eyed cash grab since he was small enough to do so from behind Alasdair's greatkilt. Best to make that liberation lasting. Even better, Jan's fresh from his Pacific Rim divorce!

Jack's suddenly putting garlic and tomatoes in everything? That's rather odd. What's all this fuss about the old man losing his marbles. oh those marbles? That won't do! Best send the lad to Rome to get some culture and get his gelato vigorously stirred. He's always been a wine lover anyway and Romano is well in the fold. Arthur's not entirely sure how Jack jumped into bed with Feliks but he's not complaining either.

Zee is concerning. Just what is she doing in Vietnam? Iceland? Oh the thing with Iceland was just about volcanoes. How odd! Arthur has no idea what she's doing and she's the least likely to do anything weird and secretive but he also knows the least about her movements.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Matt accidently scaring the shit out of Gil is so fucking funny. Love how Arthur looks at Matt and sees a little malnourished soping wet kitten left outside in a storm and everyone else sees some ghoulish, brutally stone-cold being 💀. Arthurs the 'it dont bite' to Gils 'GET YOUR DOG!!'. When Gil is over what do their normal breakfast table conversations even look like? It seems like itd be a little awkward.

To be fair, that version of Matt is the one he got when Matt finally stopped shooting at anything speaking English. Sad cold baby. I feel like this is something to try and avoid as best they can. Who wants to watch their parent/mentor make googly-eyes across the table 😂. Matt just like "😬 sorry about that time I slit your throat and drowned you in a trench crater. Or the time I rolled a grenade under your latrine. Or the surrendering prisoners of war— yeah, I'm just going to go— love you dad, bye!" as he grabs some toast and runs for a train to Glasgow as Arthur tells him not to forget an umbrella and his jacket because good god, Alasdair is going to think this is so funny.

Gilbert just dumping booze into coffee all 👀. "Katya would like him."

Arthur tries not to look proud or amused.

"It's nothing we didn't do to each other!"

"In the dark ages."

"Blame the Normans. He's a sweet boy! Breakfast?"

"I'm good with Müsli and you, sir, are delusional."

They don't bring up Ludwig 😂. Nations aren't supposed to fuck each other up so much! You never know who you might need as an ally 200 years down the road! Matt kind of forgot that bit. Father's favourite combat knife got off his leash and everyone forgets he's not the novelty butter knife Alfred advertises!

[historia-vitae-magistras]

God, the rock British Invasion must have been so fucking funny. Some of the youth just sitting in his parlour full of pinned butterflies, stuffed great awk and a taxidermied dodo or two listening to Sister Rosetta Tharpe and Arthur's waistcoat wearing ass smelling like gin and consumption walks in to bitch about the noise but then he casually picks up a guitar and fucking shreds. Like who are you??? And what have you done with the crusty old Victorian who called the music of the 20s that dastardly yank heathen sex jazz????

[historia-vitae-magistras]

I'm curious on your take on the Ratman and ratlings' relationship with animals. Do you think they'd keep any and risk becoming attached? I feel this would outwardly effect Jack the most considering his love for all the weird shit they got in Australia but I think Arthur is also the type to be really hurt by the loss of a pet. But in a dad way. Like he'll begrudgingly take in the fucking cat one of his kids brings to his home out of the rain and the animal ends up being his partner in crime. He's stone-faced when it passes away and it takes a while for the pain to subside but he doesn't let it show for even a second. I don't imagine Matthew could handle the mental load of losing a beloved pet. Alfred is too fucking busy to properly care for one. Zee probably has a few birds whose babies she cares for for generations maybe a kiwi lol

TW for pet death

Alfred has had horses his entire life. He's got a ranch in his name somewhere where the descendants of the pair of horses, Liberty and Justice, that Matt gave him during the Civil War live. Justice got shot out from under him in 1864 but he went full Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie, dropped dead of idk, the shits and when he was feeling better Liberty was getting her hump on with a local stallion so he just made a ranch there and their descendants still fuck amongst the grasses or however the prairies work. Liberty is immortal because fuck I already killed one horse this post and I'm already emotional.

Matt... He just kept trying. Nations have semi immortal pets. All he wanted was a goddamn friend. François gave him a lap dog when he was little. It died in its first Canadian winter as was often the fate of anything smaller than a terrier. He tried a newfie. It drowned. Finally, around the 1780s he had a little black and white working dog he named Sel et Poivre who lasted a decade. But eventually he got ripped up by a wolverine and Matt was damned to eternal loneliness until Arthur had mercy on him and got attached enough to the wee fat house lion he named Flufferton he didn't die. Matt's best friend for awhile and favourite heat source at his father's. Cue 1980 with Canada finally getting it's full independence and Jan dropping him like a hot rock and Alfred got him a Samoyed puppy in the aftermath. I've called this dog Kuma, Bud and Buckwheat before. The neighbor backs over him by accident! and Matt low-key has the worst mental breakdown of his life like he's 20 seconds from getting the axe and ending up in grippy sock jail. Then the pupper pops up licks him and Matt has the happiest sob fest for like a solid week. Finally! Immortal pupper. No more perishing.

Jack is a fun example because he's very in tune with the circle of lire and his favourite pet was a tortoise named Harriet he's had on and off since 1830 when she died in 2006. So when she finally died of natural causes he was absolutely fucking devastated. Didn't get out of bed for a week after the funeral, cried his eyes out every time he saw a turtle or tortoise for years. She was his baby since he was a baby. Closest thing to losing a childhood dog a nation can express. He had plenty of snakes and spiders and dogs that passed on and they made him sad but oh Harriet 😭.

Zee has a budgie named Pavlova that Jack got her when she finally dropped the family name. Just so she can say she owns Pavlova. It spent a week with Uncle Matt during hockey season and went back to Mum telling everyone, "Give your balls a tug, tit fucker" and making nondescript sobbing sounds. And the singular devotion with which New Zealand intervenes in its bird's well-being? Oh yeah, they're her children. Entire genomes of Kiwi-birds and Kakapo and Kea. She personally hunts rats that threaten their population like it's 1916, flashlight between her teeth, knife in one hand, Arthur sweating like mad somewhere. Bird watching is something she and the old man have in common so he probably does jokingly call them her grandchildren. Zee gets beat in the shin by a screaming kiwi-bird, and he just picks it up like, "Now that's no way to treat your mother, lad! Mind your manners." Before it toddles off and any on-looker is just pure, what the fuck.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Part Five: Interrogations

First Installment: Here.

Last Installment: Here.

Current Installment: You are here!

Author's note: Inspired by the 1950s short story "The Man Who Came Early" by Poul Anderson. This installment of the Viking-time-travel au sees Arthur ever so polite, some light torture and gore, some slightly tenderized federal fillet and some primo semi-sane eldritch Mattie. This should be the last use of humans.

21st Century

Washington DC

Diplomatic Security Service

It was easy enough. Two minutes in the car, three key card swipes of Alfred’s ID cards Matthew had lifted from his apartment, four steps past the secretary’s back as she left for the night. Five more as he entered a shitty little office in some shitty little government building.

“Good evening,” Arthur, in the very image of proper manners, greeted the man sitting behind the desk, hand extended to introduce himself. "Arthur Kirkland, I believe I may have some business with you."

“They said you might come.” Corcoran muttered. He didn't shake Arthur's hand. His son’s handler was a paunch-laden man with a red face and puffy hands named Cocorcan in his forties. He was only somewhat familiar to Arthur, as Alfred had been on his best behaviour lately, studying hard to fling himself off the planet again. No one serious had been given the post for some time.

"Did they do? I am glad to hear it! Hopefully, that will help us smooth this along!"

“What… would that be?”

“I haven’t heard from my son, your chief responsibility, in some time.” Arthur had not sat. He ran a finger through some dust on a shelf holding official-looking framed certificates and made a face—Corcoran sweat. Arthur squashed his pleasure. “Now, why would that be?”

“I’m sure service is spotty.” Corcoran tried. And failed.

“Is that so?” Arthur countered. “Are you quite sure about that?”

"It's a space station. How reliable could cell service be?” Corcoran gave a pathetic shrug.

“You may want to consider your answer. You have one more opportunity before I hand things over to my associate, if only because Alfred is ever so fond of the inept fools put in charge of him. Have you anything to say about that?”

“Like I said—”

He didn’t get another word out before the blood had drained from his face. Matthew appeared at Arthur’s shoulder, and Corcoran looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“You’re dead, they dragged you out of Hudson Bay!” Oh, this was going to be fun.

"Is that right?" Arthur glanced at Matthew. Honestly, it was more difficult to keep him alive now that he was grown than when he was small. Well, grown. Overgrown. He took in the lad's height. They would have to talk about that. And the Matthew did look like he’d been dead for a day or two, but that was par for the course for his boy when stressed. Somewhere between refusing to cry and appearing at Arthur's, his face had transformed into the one Arthur had rarely seen in recent years. His son had not been a creature of the shadows for some time, and the sharp points of his face were predatory. “Well, that would explain how uncontrollable he’s become! Made quite a mess. Come back wrong, did you lad?”

Corcoran didn’t respond. He put his hand to his waist, where there would be a service pistol. Matthew was faster, his fingers finding the attaching small joints of Corcoran’s dominant hand and pinching so tightly that Corcoran’s grip jumped open. One smooth motion saw the man’s face smushed against the wall, one arm flailing, the other bent at an extreme angle behind his head. Even the smallest resistance would see the shoulder pop out at a sickening angle. It was Matthew’s favourite grapple. The maneuver didn’t require strength, and he efficiently used his stronger left hand and great height. Smart lad.

Matthew easily disarmed him, kicking the pistol across the floor, then an out-of-date mobile phone. Arthur pocketed both. And then, looking happier than he had in days, Matthew put the tip of his old paratrooper knife against the man’s jugular.

"You can start talking, or I can start cutting." The knife's point rested against the man's skin, and Matt stared hard into his eyes as the Corcoran dragged his head to stare out at Matthew. Matthew hadn’t slept, which would be evident to anyone, but his son was unstable. Arthur knew better. Matthew looked unpredictable, unhinged and half mad, precisely what the situation needed. What had been frustrated tears were now red-rimmed eyes on a sharp, bone-pale face. He looked out of control, breathing hard, his eyes narrow, desperate and… oddly gleeful. “You choose.”

"I'm afraid the lad is rather handy with his whittling." Arthur added as if noting the weather was particularly pleasant that day. He pulled the points of his waistcoat down and leaned over. “Won medals when he was a lad. I suggest doing as asked.”

“I can’t!”

“Loyal to your country, are you?” Matthew asked, his voice hardly audible. Soft and insane. “Might want to give that loyalty a second thought."

Shot through with pride, Arthur suppressed a smile and clicked his tongue in a scolding way, and shook his head, like Matthew was being petulant about naptime. “Just answer a few questions, and this will all go away.”

“You can't do this! It’ll be right to the electric chair for both of you.”

“Just because you kill me doesn’t mean I’ll die.” Matthew’s pressure on the blade increased; just enough that blood trickled down Corcoran’s jugular. The man trembled. Matthew put his face closer to Corcoran’s jaw. “You did something to my brother. My brother. His laughter was the first thing I knew of humanity. And you’re going to tell me where the fuck he is or you will never hear another laugh. Neither will your wife or your children. Anyone who ever knew you will know nothing but the silence I have endured. There will be nothing but winter where you once knew joy.”

Jesus Christ. Arthur blinked, once and then twice. Well, the boys had always been fond of each other.

Corcoran whimpered. Arthur rolled his shoulders and sighed, disappointed in him.

"We wouldn't want you to make a poor choice, would we? My boy is wonderfully creative.”

Corcoran broke.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Just encountered a thread of people talking about how funny it is to see tourists in Australia getting flagged for biosecurity risks (like unauthorized apples) and freaking out because they think they've been flagged for drugs.

With that background, my question: has Arthur gotten flagged for bringing illegal produce when visiting Jack or Zee, or does he remember he can't grab an orange at the airport? And is he the type to worry when he gets flagged for things, or is he so self-confident that he's immune to the "what if I'm accidentally smuggling 2 kilos of cocaine in my carryon" panic?

Using that diplomatic passport purely for the coke in the carry-on. Man's gonna take something for the jet-lag. But hell no he's not getting himself frisked down. He's double checked everything. Helps 90% of the British diet is brown so he's not exactly tempted to put anything fresh in his luggage.

He just wants to get in and out of customs as quickly as possible so he can get to his final destination. Which is, as all middle aged British men abroad end up, drunk as shit. Preferably sunburned and passed out under the sunshade in togs that were fashionable in 1980. Or hunting rats and totally not having flashbacks to the Somme because Zee's got a hell of a sense of humour.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

It makes my heart soft for Arthur to treat Zee so gently not because she's his daughter but because she's a woman in a time where it was particularly awful to be a woman. He tried his best to respect her as a person and as his child without making her feel she's 'just' a woman. I'm curious how Lord Father would react to some poor bastard coming to ask him permission to court his daughter. I imagine it's that best laugh he's had in a long time, straight up doubled-over with tears in his eyes. Let's him know he'd have a better chance asking her directly but considering this start he's going to have a hell of a time. To quote Thedore Roosevelt: "I can either run the country or I can attend to Alice, but I cannot possibly do both."

ALL of this. It's not like the man isn't sexist because he is, but in a way that isn't purely Victorian. He's lived a long life; the first British person we know much about is Boadicea. He is the last son of a goddess who ruled with blood, sacrifice, fear and cunning. Brighid and he will have a testy relationship, but she was the high-status centre of the Celtic Christianity he will draw upon again and again. England's wealth before the empire was caught up in cloth. Women's work created him, and he knows that. As a child in the world of late antiquity, he sat at his mother's and Brighid's feet as they worked the loom. Disrespecting women's work disrespects most of his own history. Plus, if you read Anglo-Saxon poetry, there are these tantalizing hints that women's work was seen as more important to civilization than men's. He isn't a fantastic father, but he does view her as a person if nothing else. The sheer amount of regnant queens he's had.

And I do feel like he and Zee did direct any potential suiters to him first because very late Victorian/Early Edwardian courtship and society meant that his rejections on her behalf would pull any social blame of her being a bit haughty or potentially deviant and redirect it to him where it was fine. After all, a daughter's marriage is still much the father's prerogative. It was socially acceptable for her to remain unmarried as widowed men or even just men fond of their daughters often gave them the choice of staying home if they so wished. It could be a better setup, but it maximizes her freedom. Answering a question about why she is unwed with "because I'm a lesbian and I don't bloody want to be" is unacceptable and degenerate. But "Oh, I could never leave my poor dear Papa; he utterly depends on me" makes her ultra respectable and dutiful even if she hasn't seen the old fart since Christmas. It's also a way for Arthur to keep an eye on her. If people are writing to him about courting Dearest Eleanor, it's intel.

But the first time it happened? Oh, good lord, the man lost his absolute shit. Partially because she's his baby and just absolutely not, that's his last child. She's not even a century old; he does not care. She is a teenager now she is a baby. Two, the audacity some of these potatoes have. Whenever Zee puts effort into playing the part of being the beautiful young socialite in just the prettiest clothes, putting on her best manners, and utilizing all that intelligence for social purposes, he's got a line out the door. When Zee is cranky with him, she puts on a particularly flattering blue or green dress and goes to a dinner party and just fucks up the old man's week lmao. She goes on a social campaign to get her way about something, and Matt might end up taking a nap in a coffin on the dining room table to shut it all down if he's particularly irate with her because no one can come courting to a house in mourning lol. But man yeah, there is a reason her slightly anti-social ass wears so much mourning black to keep off.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

What was the thing that made Mattie realize that Arthur indeed loved him, even if not expressed in a conventional way?

He was permitted to exist after 1763. It felt cruel at the time, and confusing. The princes of France at the time were known as Fils de France. A shitty little failed fur colony he was, but he was once quite literally a son of France, and the usurped were sent into exile. But with what they are? What exile is possible when the soul is made of the earth below his feet? Acadia had been flayed from Matthew in the 1750s with the expulsions and if he was no longer a son of France, then he expected a quick, merciful death at either Alasdair's or Arthur's hands. Not something done if one is fond of the victim, but a a rational, expedited end to minimize cruelty in the age of enlightenment.

But he lived. Arthur bothered with the expense of keeping him alive. No cold and unsuffered death for Matthew but the messy, painful, confusing and terrifying gift of life. Matt understood, in at least a limited way, that it was not hatred that is the opposite of love, but apathy. And it might be fair to say Arthur was mostly apathetic of Matt until he grew to be useful but the quick death he denied Matt would have been kinder on the balance. And true, half the reason was lack of funds, but the easiest option was impossible for Arthur and his brothers, and that impossibility was the first indication of the possibility of affection.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

I absolutely love your writing! I swear it is what is getting me through finals season right now. I know you said that Arthur and Jack have similar tempers and while it is not often, do get into brawls. I am wondering if you could share what it is like when Arthur fights with his other kids/what it is usually about? Also if you could share any writing on fights between Arthur and Jack or his other kids? Thanks!

England, 1810s.

Father's face was stony and cold. Void of softness if Jack hoped for understanding. Arthur juts his chin at the door. "You go and wait in the hall; you'll get your punishment when I'm done with your brother."

Matt glanced at him. Jack was staring at his boots, and Matthew wasn't sure if it was out of embarrassment or if he looked up, he'd start shouting. But Jack looked up, the black eye getting darker by the moment. He'd have to find some snow for it. And Matt gave a flick of his eyes to confirm he should do what he was told and the smallest of comforting smiles before he turned back and squared his shoulders. Jack's response was just to look sadder. Matthew looked to Arthur once more. Father's jaw was clenched, clamped down like the hatches in a storm, holding the fury in place until Jack was out of the room. The door shut. Hell broke its gates.

"You broke the bursar's jaw in two fucking places!" Arthur slammed a hand down on the flat of his desk, and Matthew didn't flinch. "The bursar. Of bloody Eton college. In front of half the staff and students."

"He struck Jack!" Matthew snapped back. "He hit and humiliated your son in front of how many future politicians! Half those uppity fuckwits will be in office someday. What did you expect me to do? Leave it be? Let Jack think he deserves that?"

"What on earth was he even being punished for?"

"What does it fucking matter?" Matthew countered. "That prick drew your son's blood. He should be thankful I didn't kill him."

"You watch your tongue with me, boy." Arthur was gripping his desk. "Do you have any what kind of mess you've made?"

"I don't care!" Matthew shot back. He'd always been slow to fire but accurate when he got that far. "If you and this fucking empire can't put the fear of god into someone who hurts your children, then what is the point!"

"Matthew!" Arthur returned. His knuckles were white. There was a flick of pride there, if just for a moment. "That is quite enough!"

"No, it isn't." Matthew took a deep breath, and father and son stared at each other. They were in dangerous territory. But Matthew watched his father's face as his tightened and expression hardened. Father had told him anger was an ugly look on his face, foul and Norman. He didn't care today. "Its nothing like enough. You owe him the same caliber of education Alfred got."

"What do you think I sent him to Eton for? If there was a chance left you've just struck it down! Lord knows Winchester or Harrow won't take him after what you've done!"

"Even if they would, what were you thinking, sending him there? They flog their students. Those dormitories would kill me and I'm half permafrost. What is wrong with you?"

"I will not hear of this. You silence yourself now or I will send you too some godforsaken hellhole and leave you to rot. When on earth do you think you received the right to speak to me like this?"

"The day you knelt me in front of a foreign king and made swear to never again harm a British possession. And I keep my oaths, Father."

"Matthew—"

"Do whatever you like. Send me wherever you like. I don't care. But you will educate and treat Jack and Eleanor exactly as you did Alfred."

"Enough! Remove yourself from my sight."

"How are you this STUPID?" It was his turn to shout now. "Do you know why Jack prefers Brighid to you? It's nothing she did. It's your own fucking fault. Disposing of Jack into the hands of the schools when he has no business there, leaving Zee to her own devices so long as she doesn't make trouble, caring not one wit what happens to any of us so long as you don't have to experience an uncomfortable emotion. Because god forbid the Great Lord Kirkland of Red Sail Hall be known as anything so pathetic as a fucking human being."

Arthur had gone pale. His face was still stone, but he had gone pale. On any other day, Matthew might have loathed himself but not today. Not when Jack was covered in welts, one eye was swollen shut, and his own hand was broken on the jaw of the bastard who had put them there.

"They are children," Matthew said, much quieter this time. He was nearly at the door, almost safe. "If you would give them anything in the way of affection, we'd love you to the end of the world and then some. None of us are Alfred and none of us deserve to be punished for what he did."

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Super random question: from one of your fics, what was that species of melon that Matt was trying to grow when he was staying with Arthur in England? What is its significance to Matt?

Trigger warning for pretty bad emotional neglect of a child, non graphic illness and some shockingly nice headcanons.

And ah, the Montreal melon. It's a type of muskmelon or honey dew or honey rock from Canada around the Montreal reason and it's a bit peppery! Like a sweet slightly tart nutmeg flavour. It's one of those few things that Matt just... really associates with one of the somewhat rare fucks given about him lol.

It's supposedly from the 19th century but there are images of it or something very similar going back quite a bit earlier. That headcanon post thing was in early spring in the late 18th or very very early 19th century. Matt's under Arthur's roof because the economy sucks ass after the American revolution so it's not worth the money to really do anything with him. Arthur's vaguely hoping Francis will buy him back lol. So no one much pays him much mind, he's more or less left to his own devices so he tries to keep himself entertained and productive and out from underfoot. Wars with France are going full tilt again so no one wants to socialize with the French welp.

He does his work, doesn't complain, cries outside if he's sad or homesick or lonely so he doesn't get on anyone's nerves. He eventually rescues the cat from the dairy yard that Arthur lets him keep but it's in one of these episodes of loneliness one of the gardeners asks him if there's anything he'd like to put in the garden that year and Matt asks for the nutmeg melon. The gardener doesn't want to risk square footage on something he hasn't tested so he says if Matt can grow it somewhere and prove it'll do all right, he'll put it in the garden. So for a year or two, at the very end of winter he's always out in the mud beyond the back garden where he won't get yelled at trying and failing to start up his melons. They keep dying and he's sad lol. They need a green house but he's not really allowed in there with his stupid little experiment.

But they're dead, he flops over ill with the economy in the gutter and gives up. In a whim while on a walk, Arthur follows the cat outside one day into the parkland beyond the gardens, finds Matt's little failed attempt and, pulls up some not entirely mud rotted melon vines and hands it over to the greenhouse. He vaguely recognizes it as one of Matthew's silly attempts to grow something in the windowsill and well he's been even mopier than usual so maybe if it lives he'll stop being so bloody depressing. Matt's kind of stopped doing anything except his work, sluggishly dragging himself to get the eggs and feed the chickens and other poultry.

He kind of just falls over in a feverish heap one day, one of the staff puts him to bed and they're kind of at a loss "who's even in charge of this one?" The uncle who's expressed half a fuck is overseas, Admiral Kirkland hasn't so much as mentioned the boy. He's just kind of there? But someone finds Rhys down in the valleys with the sheep so he marches back up to the house, doesn't even take his wellies off, and tells Arthur off because he is in charge of the lad and it's not as if Francis is going to take him back in the middle of another war for Christ's sake.

So Arthur tells the household to go feed the lad something decent and checks in on him. He's not too poorly off just sad, weak and a bit miserable but Arthur sits down to chat a bit, make sure he's not about to have to clean up a death and Matt just kind of leans over and kind of wants to be held. Arthur's not really... there yet with him so he just awkwardly, if gently scolds him to get back under the covers, he's getting too old for this kind of nonsense anyway. Matt apologizes, rolls back over and curls back up. Arthur gives him an awkward pat and grimaces about the show of what for Arthur at the turn of the 19th century is practically hysteria. Good lord, that was awkward and undignified. Matt just kind of unravels. Nothing matters, much less him. Not a serotonin in this kids body. He misses Alfred like mad, he hasn't had a letter from his uncle in a year. He feels like shit so he just kind of starts shutting down. Fever spikes, he doesn't start hallucinating but he's confused and crying a lot and no one really wants to do much about it so again someone tells Arthur about it and he kind of sighs "very well, easier than paying off witnesses to a resurrection." Hauls him over to the actual family side of the house, and tries to get his temperature down and indulges the incessant need for human contact the boy wants. And lord, it's annoying how much Arthur enjoys parenting but much resistance he puts against having another child but even his anglo ass is kind of touched by how much Matt enjoys his father's company. He's yours you dumb ass!!!! Love him a little and he'll do whatever you want for centuries!!! Long before antibiotics or even real painkillers all Arthur can really do is ply him with Willow bark tea and keep him company and that makes most of the difference. Like oh, surprise, some basic affection gives him the will to live. Who'd've fucking thought? When he's feeling a bit better, Arthur starts stashing him in the library near his desk piled up with blankets by the fire and Matt is more interesting than he's ever been. He sleeps and reads mostly but occasionally asks questions and perks up. Takes a bit, pre modern medicine but he hops too it just in time for spring and oh, well look at those melons coming from hot houses now. They'll have to plant a few rows! Cue getting barrelled into and squeezed and having one whole feeling about making Matthew happy.

So voila, melons are love.