#but like. there's enough of thomas howards it could be several of them

[natequarter]

tudor gothic:

the lord chancellor is called thomas. he runs the country. he wants no part in where england goes from now. the lord chancellor is being arrested for treason. the lord chancellor was executed. the lord chancellor was never arrested. there is no lord chancellor.

the crown is dissolving monasteries. this is standard practice. all the monasteries are shutting down. this is thomas's fault. you have no idea which thomas. the crown wants the monasteries back. the monasteries are never coming back. you visited an intact monastery just yesterday. when you blinked, the ruins gave alms to the poor.

the wars of the roses have just ended decisively. the wars of the roses have been over for decades. the legacy of civil war haunts england. you've watched shakespeare's wars of the roses plays. the wars of the roses must have been over when the throne passed peacefully to henry viii. when you close your eyes, you can somehow hear reginald pole laughing at you.

the duke of somerset was beheaded for treason. so was the duke of buckingham. so was the duke of northumberland. so was the duke of norfolk. so was the duke of suffolk. the duke of suffolk never lost the king's affection. all the dukes are vying for power. but then you remember: there are no dukes. perhaps there never were.

the howards are not to be trusted. thomas howard was thrown in the tower. thomas howard was executed for treason. thomas howard lived out his life peacefully. thomas howard only narrowly escaped henry viii's reign with his life. you are drowning in thomases. they never end. one thing you are certain of, though: thomas howard is long dead. thomas howard will outlive us all.

you know the names of every courtier in the kingdom, and yet more go missing with every passing day. you try to note down the name of thomas wryth, but you cannot put quill to parchment. how is it spelt? wriothesley? you have always known that. you know it deep in your bones. and yet, when you try to say it out loud, words fail you. words fail everyone, where the earl of southampton is concerned. somewhere dark and terrible, an ancient beast awakens from its slumber. like everything else, it is also called thomas.

you turn to noting down the name of the queen. kateryn parr. this is a simple task. your subconscious whispers catalina to you in a distinctly spanish accent. your hand shakes. you try to write down catherine, but it morphs into a k against your will. you drop your quill, hand trembling. nonetheless, there is a name before you. whose name it is is anyone's guess.

mary is queen. which mary? which queen? suddenly, you are not so sure.

the bible is written in latin. the bible has always been written in latin. you flick through the pages of your bible, and greek letters swim before your eyes. you check the book again, and find you are holding a book of hours. all the words are in english. you cannot read any of them.

the king of england has ruled for many years. he is nine years old. the king of england is a foreign power. elizabeth was king; now james is queen. long live queen james!

[lindsayrps]

eleanor "nell" howard, twenty four, red cross nurse

from the outside, it would appear as if john and caroline howard are not a perfect match. look a little closer and…they’re still not a perfect match. he’s overbearing, quick to anger, and not someone who’s entirely anywhere close to something resembling warmth. caroline is the exact opposite. capable of warmth, to a degree, caroline is confrontationally avoidant and subservient to her husband, first and foremost. 

that they had children was probably not a surprise but also probably not entirely the best move either. thomas is first and two year later, nell joins the party. for a while, it’s the two of them until nell is eleven when the youngest and second boy, robert, joins the family. the howard family calls eden, new york home for as long as nell can remember.

to say that the way nell’s mother grew up dictated the way she raised nell and her brothers is a bit of an understatement. caroline was raised to be a wife and a mother, first, and everything else second–to raise children and keep the house was just about the most important thing she could possibly do with her life but the little one room schoolhouse in eden needed a teacher for all the other children in town and she took that on, too, shouldering it like it was her responsibility long before she'd even taken it on.

thus, nell was raised to be the obedient listener with intentions to serve everyone else but herself while thomas and robert were, more or less, given free reign because “boys will be boys.” naturally, this did not work out for anyone involved for…several reasons.

namely, nell and thomas being extremely close. with just over a two year gap between them (as opposed to the near eleven between nell and robbie) they were basically never out of each other’s, or their mother's, sight for a good portion of their childhoods. she doesn't tell anyone when he thinks about fudging his age to join the navy without parental consent at sixteen and he doesn't say anything when he catches her smoking with her friends behind the church two years later. by the time robbie arrives, caroline spends most of her time tending to the baby and leaves the two of them to their own devices, for the most part.

the expectations placed on caroline as a young woman were eventually passed onto nell, too, to no one's surprise. on the face of it, being a wife and a mother is not the absolute worst thing in the world and she wouldn't hesitate to say that she doesnt want that to be part of who she is one day but by the time she's a teenager, nell starts wanting more for herself.

not wanting to go completely off the rails and disappoint her parents, she decides to go into a “respectable” profession (in the eyes of her mother) after she graduates from high school and chooses the one she's best at–nursing. while there was nothing wrong with several of the other options available to her and despite being fairly maternal, nell didn't think she'd be a very good governess nor music teacher, mostly because she was hardly musically inclined enough to do so. she's always been someone who wanted to take care of others, whether it had been expected of her or not, so the leap to nursing is not as drastic as it could've been. 

the howards struggled, like so many others, during the depression years. while they didn’t struggle nearly as much as some of the people that they knew, to say that it was a walk in the park, as a result, was far from the truth. john howard loses his job at the lumbermill, taking it a little more personally than he really had any right to, and while caroline did her best to support the family through hers, there were five mouths to feed for a time and, then, only four when thomas enlisted in the us navy at eighteen, with parental consent because he wasn’t yet twenty one years of age.

she goes straight into nursing school after graduating high school in 1937. unknown to her, at the time, thomas paid for her to go because, after spending her high school years in the most dismal years for the american education system and with the ongoing depression, thomas didn't want her to worry about how she was going to pay tuition for the three years she'd be in training. he'd been in the navy for two years, at that point, sending a significant portion of the money he'd socked away in that time back for nell’s schooling and to help ease the burden on their parents as the depression lurched forward through the end of the decade. 

by the time war breaks out in 1939, thomas is stationed in hawaii at pearl harbour and in april 1940, he gets assigned to the uss arizona when the pacific fleet makes PH it's home base.

while the us hadn't a thought to enter the war, it still became a point of worry for nell–he is so far away from family and what if something happened to him? he assuages these fears by insisting he's fine and he's made friends with enough of his fellow sailors that they'll look out for him and besides she's got a fancy new career in a hospital in eden to focus on instead. 

when pearl harbour is attacked on the morning of december 7, 1941 thomas is aboard the arizona and is one of the crewmen who die in the subsequent explosion after a bomb hits the forward magazines. the howards find out about the attack through news coverage that afternoon like everyone else. caroline is inconsolable, john does his best to comfort her, in a rare moment of concern for his wife, and robbie is mostly shielded from it.

nell is working when she finds out. she’d been a nurse for less than a year, at that point, and when the chattering starts at the hospital about what had happened, she becomes catatonic and they send her home. she doesn’t need confirmation because it feels like it’s never going to come and, deep down, she figures she already knows that the worst had happened. they don’t get a funeral, they don’t get to say goodbye, they just have to sit with the knowledge that their son and brother is gone and find a way to move forward.

when the us joins the war effort, nell doesn’t think twice about volunteering for the red cross. it’s an impulsive decision built on the heels of immense pain and if she’d thought about it for a little longer, she might not have gone through with it. but, in the moment, she thinks: she’s a nurse, they’ll need those, and plenty of them, in the coming months. she’ll go wherever they want her to go, they just need to send her somewhere. she doesn’t think she can stick around eden while her family grieves thomas and she needs to do something.

it's not a decision that sits well with her parents. they lost their son, they weren't about to potentially lose their twenty two year old daughter, too, and no amount of telling them she wasn't going into a literal combat zone was going to appease them or make them back down on chastising her for doing something so foolish.

the red cross decides they don’t need anymore nurses, not yet, but they suggest she volunteer for the clubmobile service in the meantime. she’s exactly what they need, she’s sociable and cute and maybe she’s a little on the younger side than they’re used to but it’s quick entry into the war so she does it. they send her over to england with a few other women but she doesn’t give up trying to get into a hospital, somewhere, somehow.

nell doesn’t doubt that her parents love her but for the majority, if not all, of her life thusfar she’s never really felt loved by them. by all accounts, she was the perfect, obedient daughter they wanted, always twisti herself into whatever they’d wanted her to be in any given situation and it still felt like there was an unspoken level of…disappointment there. leaving the way she had hadn’t helped matters, she’s sure, but she can’t exactly take it back now.

she’s never once in the two years since his death talked much about thomas, if at all. it hurts just as much as it did, then, and was a monumental moment in nell’s life that altered her in more ways than one. for one, his death spurred her on to being more outspoken and sure of herself and her place after she left new york, letting herself be soft in spite of circumstances. she’s a lot less willing to compromise on her beliefs and the things she wants for herself now. in another way, she doesn’t want to get involved with anyone in uniform because she can’t stand the thought of losing someone she loves the way she lost her brother.

nell is…fairly conservative with the time she spends with the men on base. no disrespect to any of the women who decide otherwise, because you do you, but she is not willing to be a one night stand, as it were, for any of them. she does believe this is also partly due to the way she was raised attending church and being a good christian. dating was a means to get married, sex was not something you did before getting married or simply had in any capacity that wasn’t procreation related. she didn’t have to be told that indulging in any of that meant she’d be considered less than in the eyes of god for her to Get The Hint.

she is unlearning a lot of those beliefs, though, and realizing that at the end of the day, she’s not a bad person and will never be a bad person for not being Totally And Completely Innocent. now if she could just work through the grief she’s been ignoring for two years and realize that forming connections with people doesn’t mean they’re going to die horrible deaths as a result, that’d be great!

[heavyarethecrowns]

Can you rank the wives of Henry VIII least favorite to favorite?

I don’t really have a least favourite, there is something about all of them I like. 

So in no order, 

Catherine of Aragon, her religious dedication is something to admire, whether you agree with said religion or not. 

But I definitely love that she made education for women and girls fashionable so many women and girls got an education they were not offered before. Catherine very much was an academic and others seeing this wanted to be educated too.  She donated large sums of money to several colleges. The controversial book The Education of a Christian Woman by Juan Luis Vives, which claimed women have the right to an education, was dedicated to and commissioned by her. Such was Catherine's impression on people, that even her enemy, Thomas Cromwell, said of her "If not for her sex, she could have defied all the heroes of History."

Anne Boleyn, obviously I think she is very misunderstood. She is the perfect example of misogyny. Yes, Anne was full of contradictions but then so are we all!

I do like this quote from a biographer of Anne’s 

To us she appears inconsistent—religious yet aggressive, calculating yet emotional, with the light touch of the courtier yet the strong grip of the politician—but is this what she was, or merely what we strain to see through the opacity of the evidence? As for her inner life, short of a miraculous cache of new material, we shall never really know. Yet what does come to us across the centuries is the impression of a person who is strangely appealing to the early 21st century: A woman in her own right—taken on her own terms in a man's world; a woman who mobilised her education, her style and her presence to outweigh the disadvantages of her sex; of only moderate good looks, but taking a court and a king by storm. Perhaps, in the end, it is Thomas Cromwell's assessment that comes nearest: intelligence, spirit and courage.

Anne Boleyn was described by contemporaries as intelligent and gifted in musical arts and scholarly pursuits.  All qualities I admire.

Jane Seymour, the thing I really appreciate about her is how she not only became close to her Stepdaughter Mary but was also campaigning to get her back to Court and restored to the line of succession (behind any of her own children of course). While she was unable to do this she was able to get Mary and her Father reconciled. 

Anne of Cleves, for starters she seems to have been the smartest of them all managing to get an annulment and live comfortably (and being the last of the wives to die as well as after Henry). She has always been describes as easy going and generous which I can imagine

Catherine Howard, her reputation has always been of some vixen despite the fact she was 15/16 when she Henry, aged 49, was pursuing her and then married her. She was a mere child, something often forgotten when talking about her as this oversexed woman! 

Catherine was a multitude of shades of grey as all people are; neither innocent maiden nor lusty whore. She was a woman who was aware of her own sexuality, and how to use it, years before a woman in charge of her own sexual pleasure was deemed acceptable by society. She was a child/woman who lacked a proper education and upbringing befitting her station who was then expected to act like the four queens who came before her. She was a young girl who made mistakes, and yet met her grisly end with grace and courage, paying the ultimate price for a crime that there is no definitive proof she ever committed.

It certainly also did not help that her family, The Howards, were not well regarded making her an easy target for rumours.  

Catherine Parr, if I was to choose a favourite this may be who I would choose. Not just because she was smart enough to marry him at the end of his life and outlive him!

Catherine enjoyed a close relationship with Henry's three children, Mary, Elizabeth, and Edward. She was personally involved in the education of Elizabeth and Edward. She was influential in Henry's passing of the Third Succession Act in 1543 that restored his daughters Mary and Elizabeth to the line of succession to the throne.

In fact Catherine was appointed regent from July to September 1544 while Henry was on a military campaign in France and in case he lost his life, she was to rule as regent until Edward came of age. However, he did not give her any function in government in his will. Following the King's death, she assumed the role of guardian to her stepdaughter, Elizabeth.

Also as a Protestant I have to admire Catherine’s books. Catherine published her first book, Psalms or Prayers, anonymously. Her book Prayers or Meditations became the first book published by an English queen under her own name on 2 June 1545. She published a third book, The Lamentation of a Sinner, on 5 November 1547. 

On account of her Protestant sympathies, she provoked the enmity of anti-Protestant officials, who sought to turn the king against her; a warrant for her arrest was drawn up, probably in the spring of 1546. However, she and the king soon reconciled thankfully for her sake!

I find it kinda cool that her funeral was the first Protestant funeral in England, Scotland or Ireland to be held in English

Catherine's good sense, moral rectitude, compassion, firm religious commitment, and strong sense of loyalty and devotion have earned my admiration over the years.

[randomshyperson]

The Scarlet Witch Prophecy - The Third Year

Series Masterlist ||  Read on AO3

Summary: As the youngest daughter of Howard Stark, you have ordinary expectations for your years at Hogwarts. Little do you know what adventures await you when your destiny is intertwined with the legendary Scarlet Witch.

Warnings: +16. Adaptation of the Harry Potter Saga, Magical Thematic, Prophecies, Mentions of Violence, Torture and dark magic, Language (swearing and minor/major offenses), manipulation of will, Underage kissing, insinuation of smut with minors, Smut (overage), descriptions of death, aggression, obscurity, angst, fluffy, soulmates analogies.

Chapter Words:  7.290K 

Chapter Notes: Wanda x Reader friendship is here. And more about the world history. I’m pretty sure this is the last chapter where things are easy going. Just like Harry Potter, things start to get dark during four year. Good reading to everyone, i hope you like the story so far.

Tag list ( let me know if you want to be tagged or removed idk haha) @mionemymind​ / @abimess​ / @stephanieromanoff​ / @yourtaletotell​ / @tomy5girls​ / @justagaypanicking​ / @thegayw1tch​ / @idek-5​ // @myperfectlovepoem​ // @helloalycia​ // @ENSORCELLME // @AIMEZVOUSBRAHMS // @imapotatao​ / @aimezvousbrahms​/ @ensorcellme​/ @helloalycia // @ichala

//-// x //-// //-// x //-//

Your list of materials is much longer in the third year.

Tony complains that you shouldn't have taken so many classes, but you are so curious to explore the areas of magic that you can't help it.

This time, Mantis meets you in the diagonal alley. You were hoping to spend some time with Gamora and Nebula as well, but once you get a glimpse of their father, you know that's not going to happen.

Thanos is a tall, muscular man, and has a permanent aggressive look on his face. He also kept his hands on the shoulders of his two daughters while they were waiting to be attended to at Flourish and Blotts. You also noticed that your friends were wearing very beautiful and remarkably expensive dark green capes, and just like their father's outfit, they had a bundle of a silver snake. That was the first time you understood what Slytherin pride meant.

"He's scary." Mantis commented softly beside you. You nodded in agreement. Groot, who was a little bigger since you saw him last year, jumped on your shoulder, sitting next to your ear. You smiled at the creature before looking forward again.

You and Mantis were standing at the entrance of store, and saw your friends through the window. You gave up the idea of complementing them when you saw their father.

"Let's restock the potions list first, Mantis." You tell her. "Then we'll buy our books."

You meet Tony again at the Leaky Cauldron after you finish. He hides something from you quickly, but you are distracted by an apple muffin flying towards you, and you don't ask.

Bucky was staying at the Leaky Cauldron because his house had a magical accident. His father said something about a persistent spell flood. Since the rest of Bucky's family were muggle, only he and his father were staying there, solving the problem while Bucky's sisters were at his aunt's house.

Since everyone needed to buy the materials for the new school year, Tony asked you to join his friends when you were done buying your stuff.

After lunch with everyone, Mantis said goodbye to you, and you returned Groot to her hands.

You led her to the exit of the bar, but as you walked back to the table, a conversation caught your attention.

"I'm telling you, they saw him in Sokovia." A bearded man whispered. He looked so nervous, you couldn't help but pay attention. The woman standing next to him, a cup of a strange liquor in her hands, rolled her eyes.

"That's miles away, Thomas." She said. "If Korvac gets anywhere near London, the ministry will send him back to Azkaban in two seconds."

"He's already escaped once, Sara." You rebut the man. 

You frown at the conversation. Walking back, you have a thoughtful frown on your face, and Tony teases you.

You get distracted by Steve's jokes about the coming year, and forget all about it.

It's only after you've packed your bag, during dinner, that you remember.

"I heard something strange today." You say casually as Tony and your father dine beside you. "Some folks in the Leaky Cauldron were talking about someone escaping from Azkaban."

Your father chokes. Tony stares at you, and ducks his head when your father looks at him angrily. Howard gaze softens when he looks at you however.

"Honey, who told you that?"

You shrug.

"No one told me dad." You reply. "I ended up overhearing two strangers talking about it. I never knew about anyone escaping from Azkaban before, it seemed important."

Tony kicks you under the table, and you frown in confusion. Your father takes a deep breath.

"Honey, listen to me carefully, will you?" He begins, and you worry at his serious tone. "There are important things going on at Daddy's work. Things that could be dangerous." He says and you look at him in surprise. "You and your brother are too young to be getting into such matters, and I hope you will trust me to keep you both safe."

"Yes, dad." Tony assures, but you remain silent. A moment later, you add: 

"Daddy, is there anything I can do to help you?"

"No honey." He says taking back his fork. 

"It's okay to tell me what's going on, I won't be scared. I can help..."

"Enough!" He exclaims angrily punching the table. You jump lightly in your chair, startled. Your father doesn't look at you. "I don't want you to hear anything about this anymore. You two are children, and it's dangerous. Have I made myself clear?"

You look at Tony, but he is glaring at the plate in front of you. 

Swallowing the urge to cry, you get up, hurrying to run to your room.

Your father calls you several times, but you don't answer. 

A few minutes after you are in your bed, he appears in your room. His posture is much gentler than before, and he kneels down beside your bed.

"Honey, hey." He calls to you. You keep your face in the pillow, and he sighs. "I'm sorry for yelling at you." He says, and with your silence, he continues. "Can you forgive me?"

It takes a few seconds, but you look at him, and nod. Howard smiles faintly.

"You and your brother are the most important things in my life." He says fondly. "And I would never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me."

"Dad, you can't control what is in the rest of the world."

Your father chuckles lightly. 

"Yeah I know." He says. "Damn, I wanted you to stay a little girl forever, so you wouldn't be so smart."

You laugh, pushing his shoulder lightly.

"You're not going to tell me what's going on, are you?" You ask and your father sighs, looking away.

"It's nothing that will affect you honey." He says. "It's just problems of the magical world. I don't want you meddling in something like that. Not at this age."

You sit down on the bed next, raising your pinky to your father.

"I swear I won't pry into such business if you promise to tell me if things get serious enough for me to know."

Her father laughs, raising his own pinky then.

"I promise, kiddo."

You both laugh as you take the oath, and your father hugs you next. When he lets go and stands up, you pull his hand away.

"Apologize to Tony, Daddy." You ask surprising him slightly. "He doesn't like it when you yell either."

Your father sighs, bending down to kiss your forehead. He asked you to go to sleep before he closed the door.

//-//

It is very cold when you arrive at Hogwarts.

But you don't care because all your friends link arms and walk together, making you laugh at the confused looks you get when the other students notice the small row.

Over dinner, your mood changes quickly however.

"I imagine it has come to the attention of many students here, especially the older ones, the recent untoward events in the magical world." Principal Harkness began during the announcement of the new school year. She had a serious and authoritative tone, and deep dark circles under her eyes. You have never seen her like this before. "But for those of you who are not aware, the dark wizard known as Korvac escaped from Azkaban a few months ago." The hall exploded into murmurs at the mention. You saw Professor Strange lock his jaw, probably disagreeing that such a topic should be broached with eleven-year-olds. "After much consideration, the Ministry of Magic thought it best to apply additional security to the castles."

"So, starting next week, we will have special guests at the Hogwarts castles; The ministry has determined that aurors and Azkaban guards will be guarding the outside of the grounds."

The crowd erupted in boos as soon as the words echoed in the hall. Your Hufflepuff colleagues remarked in horror that the dementors, the guards of Azkaban, were terrifying, and you sought your brother's gaze at the Slytherin table, but he was looking earnestly at the principal.

Agatha sighed impatiently, and the hall fell silent. She asked everyone to be careful with the guards in Azkaban, not to give them reason to fight back. And then she returned to the daily announcements as if nothing had happened.

You didn't eat very well after that.

History of Magic with Professor Okoye was one of the hardest classes in school.

You were hoping to get decent grades this year, but you were assigned to be with Peter as your pair, so you knew you would have to work for two, as your friend had no interest at all in that subject.

"Why don't you try to pay attention?" You asked slightly annoyed as you made your notes. Quill was drawing small dragons in his notebook.

"I want to be a famous Quidditch player, I don't need to know the history of the Goblin revolution for that."

You sighed, turning your attention back to the blackboard. Several minutes after class had begun, a Gryffindor student raised his hand.

"Professor Okoye, may I ask you a question?" it was Thor Odinson, and he seemed to have grown at least twenty inches over the summer. You noted that his hair was also longer when you looked back, wondering who was speaking.

"Of course, Odinson." The teacher said with a gentle smile. Thor cleared his throat as he lowered his hand, seeming to hesitate.

"Could you tell us about the Mephisto followers?"

The room fell absolutely silent at the mention of the name, and many students looked at Thor with wide eyes. The smile on Professor Okoye's face completely disappeared.

"Where did you hear that name, boy?" she asked sternly, Thor swallowed dryly.

"M-my father, ma'am." He replied. "I heard him send a bawler to the ministry quoting that name. When I asked, he told me to study the history of the wizarding world. I thought I would ask you because I couldn't find anything in the books."

The room looked at the teacher expectantly. Okoye sighed, seeming to decide whether to talk about it or not.

"Listen to me carefully please." She asked as she walked around the tables. "Some years ago long before any of you were born, there was a sorcerer who made all the wrong choices. He sought immeasurable power, and was never satisfied with his own abilities. And many other wizards believed that the quest for ultimate power was something worth dying for. When this wizard became a symbol of power and cruelty, he named himself Mephisto."

Her classmates exchanged startled looks, but the teacher continued to tell.

"The dark wizards and witches who supported this quest became known as the Followers of Mephisto, or Walkers of Death. The magical ministries around the world banded together to put an end to the group, and there was a great battle, where most of these wizards were imprisoned or killed in a duel."

"What happened to Mephisto?" Thor asks suddenly, interrupting the narration. The teacher hesitates, but then gives a reassuring smile.

"He's dead, of course." She assures.

"My mother says he was never found." Added another classmate, you think her name is Valkyrie, but you've never talked to her. Much buzz runs through the room at her utterance, and Professor Okoye twists her fingers nervously.

"When the Walkers of Death were eliminated, Mephisto lost his power." She tells seriously. "The last person who faced him is related to someone in this room actually."

Professor Okoye turns to you, and you want to sink into your chair, feeling your heart soar.

"Auror Howard Stark was the last sorcerer to fight Mephisto before his demise. Thirteen years ago." She says and you feel all the stares on you. "But that's enough from this matter for today, students. Mephisto's story is taboo in our witch community because of the thousands of lives that were lost during that period." She adds, "I hope you will be respectful about the memory of those victims, and not comment on such a thing, or mention the name of this despicable wizard again."

The teacher closes the subject after that, looking upset. You can't pay attention to the class again when she goes back to talking about the magical revolution.

//-//

"Did you knew about that?" You ask angrily when Tony looks unimpressed when you approach him in the third floor hallway, after searching all over the school for him.

He looks tired.

"Stop talking so loud, will you?" He asks looking around. "Of course I knew, I've been researching this story for months."

You frown in confusion, and Tony rolls his eyes leaning against the bookshelf next to him.

"I didn't tell you anything because you're only thirteen!" He adds nervously. "That's not children's business."

"It is my business if it involves our family!". You retort angrily. A group of students walk past you, looking at you curiously, but Tony just pretends to be admiring the trophies until they leave.

"Look, I don't really know what happened, but dad used to be an auror when mom was alive." He recounts. "And then he took on this powerful sorcerer, and mom died when you were born. He became an inventor, switched departments in the mystery, and nobody talks about this Mephisto guy nowadays."

"Do you know what this has to do with the wizard who escaped from Azkaban?" you ask with your arms crossed, Tony gives a chuckle.

"Isn't it obvious, sis?" he retorts wryly. "Korvac was Mephisto's greatest ally at that time. And he escaped from the most secure prison in the world. A lot of people think that means the walkers are getting back in business again."

"My god Tony, why didn't dad tell us any of this?" You ask worriedly and Tony laughs humorlessly, looking upset.

He straightens his posture and points to the glass on the trophy shelf that was propped up. 

"And there's more." He says. "Take a look at that."

You turn your face to stare at the objects that were stored there. Most were trophies, but there were also pictures of the Quidditch teams from previous years. Tony is pointing to one of those.

"No way." You whispered as you see it. In the caption on the board, it read "Howard Stark and Erik Lehnsherr receiving awards for their honorable service to the school." It was your father and your teacher, probably in their senior year, and they seemed both content. The magical photograph showed them hugging each other by the shoulders, huge smiles on their faces, and two golden cups in their hands. 

"Yes, little sister." Tony said also looking at the picture. "Dad and Magneto were friends in school days. I wonder what happened to Professor Lehnsherr to make him so bitter. He looks happy in that picture."

The sound of the bell announcing the next period makes you jump in fright, as you were completely distracted by the photograph in front of you.

"Let's talk about this later, Tony, I have charms now and..."

"No way, Y/N!" Tony interrupted frowning. "That's none of your business. Dad told me that you promised to stay out of it, and I agree with him. You're too young!"

"Oh and you think he'll like knowing you're investigating this whole story?" You retort and Tony sighs, looking away, "That's what I thought.

"I'm not going to get you mixed up in this story."

"Fine, I'll find out on my own, then."

"Y/n..."

"See you, Tony."

//-//

Having dementors in the castle is really scary.

It's been two weeks since classes started, and with the first Quidditch game of the year approaching, you're pretty anxious.

You didn't make much progress in your research during those days. None of the professors wanted to say anything about Mephisto's time, and you lost fifteen points when you tried to ask Professor Lehnsherr about his school days, for being a snoozer.

The only things you found out other than what Tony told you were what Gamora and Nebula shared with you. They mentioned that Thanos was particularly busy during the summer, and that they had never seen him go to the Ministry so often before. 

You also started reading the Daily Prophet, and every day they would publish something about Korvac's escape, even if it was only to say that there was no news in the case. 

When the day of the first match arrived, you ignored the strange feeling that settled on the edge of your stomach as if something bad was going to happen.

You are overjoyed when you are in the air, waiting for the match to start, and notice that all of Tony's friends, including yourself, have yellow flags in their hands to cheer you on.

Everything goes well until the end of the first half.

You noticed a bludger almost reaching your chaser team mate, Clint Barton and moved forward to defend him many meters above the stadium. Because it was raining, your visibility was very poor. You knocked the ball away, but lost sight of Clint, although you heard him shout a thank you. As you dived down again, lightning exploded beside you, and you jumped in fright, feeling your ear whistle as you became completely disoriented.

As you began to get used to your surroundings again, you felt your body become completely tense. The cloud in front of you was almost a face shape, it looked like someone with horns or maybe wearing a tiara. The image dissolved in the next second, and you felt a strange chill run through your body. Releasing the broom handle only to hug your arms, you looked down, the whole team many meters away. 

When you tried to join them, something came in your way.

Dementors must have been the scariest thing you had ever seen in your life. And there was one of them right in front of you. You widened your eyes in shock, and the creature looked straight at you.

Losing your strength quickly, you felt yourself slipping off the broom. A feeling as if you had been wrapped in a very painful spell overtook your body as you fell. 

//-//

You woke up in a jolt, and warm hands pushed you back into bed.

"Relax, kid." Your brother spoke with a smile. "I swear I'll actually forbid you to play at some point."

"What happened?" you asked confused. All of your friends and Tony's friends around your bed.

"You fell off the broom, damn it." He retorted and you rolled your eyes.

"Yeah but there was a dementor up there..."

"Yeah, everyone saw it." Tony interrupted looking annoyed. "Professor Harkness kicked everyone out of the stadium after Professor Strange conjured up the patronus."

"I have never seen Professor Strange so angry." Gamora remarked next. 

"Oh, there's something else." Natasha warned moving around the crowd to stand beside you on the bed. "Your broom fell into the Whomping Willow, and well. It' s right here."

In Nat's arms were the remains of what had once been your Nimbus 2000. You sighed in displeasure, but at least you could ask Jarvis to buy you another one.

After you were released from the nurse's office, Principal Harkness was waiting for you in the hallway. She waved for all your other colleagues to go their ways, as she escorted you to the Hufflepuff common room.

"Tell me, dear, are you feeling all right?" She asked tenderly. You nodded in agreement as you walked.

When you reached an empty hallway, she stopped walking, and touched your shoulder so that you would do the same. She knelt at your height and looked deep into your eyes.

"Tell me what you saw up there."

" Professor, I don't remember..." You started to say, but then fell silent, immediately recalling what you saw as you gaze the purple glow in front of you. It was as if your thoughts came out of your lips before you even thought to say them. "I saw an image in the clouds, it was like a horned creature or someone wearing a crown. Then the dementor reached me and I felt an immediate chill and unhappiness. I had the feeling that I was wrapped in a sensation of pain as I fell down."

The professor seemed to absorb every one of your words. She smiled then, her eyes returning to their normal color quickly, making you believe you had imagined the whole thing.

"Thank you dear." She said. "Let's keep this between us, okay?"

When you two walked back, you didn't remember any conversation at all.

//-//

Your first trip to Hogsmeade is amazing.

You buy two bags full of candy at the Honeydukes, and then you and your friends go to the Three Broomsticks, to have some buttery beer.

Quill seems to have become friends with Pietro Maximoff during Quidditch practice, because as soon as they see each other, they greet with a hug.

You ignore the feeling of nervousness that settles on the pit of your stomach when your gaze meets Wanda's.

Your friends don't mind sharing a table with the Maximoff twins, and that's how you end up sitting a few feet from Wanda, Gamora's watchful eye on you trying to understand why you're so quiet and flushed.

"Everyone is so nervous about the dementors at the castle, that I think we should try to do something fun. Like throw a party." Quill suggested to the group. Mantis looked excited.

"I think we could do something before Christmas." Gamora suggested and the group agreed.

"Does anyone have any idea where we can have this party? Quill asked." Since we are from different houses, maybe the common rooms are not a good option. I heard that the Slytherin kids don't really like the Hufflepuffs.”

Quill's teasing makes Wanda roll her eyes, but the rest of the table giggles. You look away to your cup.

"We could use some empty room on the seventh floor." Pietro suggested, and Quill gave an excited exclamation.

"This is a great idea." He said. "If the older students are going to participate, we can get some prefect to cover for us."

Quil looks at you and Mantis has to poke your shoulder for you to notice and pay attention.

"Sorry, what is it?" You ask when you notice all the looks on you.

"Can't you convince Steve Rogers to join us? He's your brother's boyfriend."

You laugh, nodding in agreement

"Okay folks, I'll try to call them all."

On the way back to the castle, after you spent the afternoon talking about the most diverse random subjects and telling jokes, you leave your hands in your pocket, because it is very cold.

Quill and Pietro start playing tag, and Wanda walks alone. You hurry up to join her.

"Hey." You greet with a smile, Wanda also has her hands in her pockets.

"Hey". She responds kindly.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes?"

"Are you asking me?" You say back with humor and Wanda laughs, looking at the floor as she walks. "I… I thought it was cool this afternoon." You confess the next moment, feeling your face get hot. "With everyone together, I say. And you and your brother, it's ... you two are nice."

"Thank you, Stark." She replies with a smile. You move your fingers inside your pocket before you speak again.

"If we're going to be friends, you can use my first name". You say and Wanda looks at you, but you keep looking forward.

"Are you sure?" She asks after a moment. You frown without understanding. "Are you sure you want to be my friend?"

You look at Wanda in surprise. But then your expression softens.

"I thought we were going to be friends last year, but you looked angry every time you saw me."

Wanda laughed lightly, looking ahead.

"Yeah, I… I'm sorry about that." She says. "It wasn't something you did. It was just a few things I heard. And I ended up thinking that you were judging me like everyone else at that school." She tells you. "It would make sense since you saw me face the troll." Wanda whispered the last part. You bit your bottom lip before speaking again.

"You could have talked to me, you know?" You say. "I kept thinking that I had done something wrong."

Wanda said nothing, and you sighed, running your hands through your hair.

"We can forget about it and be friends now, what do you think?" You then suggested a smile on your face.

Wanda looked at you, and her green eyes cause something in your stomach to sink.

"I would like that."

"Cool." You comment breathlessly.

//-//

Being friends with Wanda is so natural that it almost surprises you.

Now whenever you sit down at the Slytherin table, there are two new members in your group of friends.

Eventually you discover that it was Quidditch that build Quill and Pietro friendship, as they stopped fighting because they were spending a lot of time training together.

At the Slytherin table, you know that Pietro and Quill receive angry looks because they are from Gryffindor, but no one has the courage to say anything to you, perhaps it is the deadly stare that Wanda gives anyone who dares to look foully at her brother.

You also succeed in inviting Steve and Tony, in addition to your brother's other friends, to the party before Christmas. Steve says that you all can use the old Astronomy room on seventh-on Saturday, and that the curfew would be at ten o'clock. The news of the party ends up spreading quickly around the school, but your friends don't seem to mind that it stopped being something small just between you guys.

When the day finally comes, you wear a comfortable jeans and sweatshirt set, realizing that it is a choice of clothes much more similar to Muggle-borns than pureblood but no one seems to care.

"Hey, you took so long" remarked Gamora as soon as you went up to the seventh floor and met her at the door of the room. "Come on, everyone is already in there"

As you took some of the non-alcoholic fruit drink that Mantis helped Quill make, you looked around the room. You waved sheepishly when your eyes met Wanda's, who was coming in. She looks very beautiful in her wine red sweater, and she smiled at you, and you didn't understand why you felt your stomach flip.

Soon everyone were all together, talking animatedly on various subjects. When Quill and Pietro started doing a dance competition, you laughed so hard that your belly was aching when they were done.

//-//

You have your first Divination class that week.

Professor Heimdall was already waiting for the students while he was sitting on a kind of ivory throne in the corner of the room, which smelled of incense that made your head spin slightly. It really was a remarkably mystical and mysterious environment, even for a magic school. The illumination was limited due to long white curtains on the walls, and there were many candles scattered around the room. Mantis whispered that this kind of thing was done to increase concentration when working with this kind of magic. 

"Welcome to our first meeting on Divination, students, the most complex and unstable of magical arts." began the professor as soon as everyone was seated at the tables spread around the tower. "I must warn you that if you seek answers to your most personal questions here, you will most likely not find them. There is no stability in this subject."

Some students commented softly among themselves, but no one seemed willing to contradict the professor, his yellow eyes roaming over everyone in the room.

"Let's begin today's class with an introduction to the basics of study in divination." He warns, and with a flick of his wand, the cupboards at the back of the room open, and from there several sets of cups fly out to all the tables. Then the professor touches his wand to the teapot on the table, and it multiplies into four pairs, flying around to serve everyone.

When everyone has their cups full, Professor Heimdall goes to the small blackboard, and begins to explain how divination works. You hurry to start writing it down.

Many minutes later, when you have finished your tea, Mantis pokes your shoulder.

"Let me look at yours and you do mine?" she asks and you nod, handing her your cup. You clear your throat, looking intently at the dregs of tea in Mantis' cup.

"I don't see anything." You grumble, trying to concentrate. The powder doesn't seem to form anything. 

"Remember to check the symbols in your books." Warned Professor Heimdall aloud the next moment. You took a deep breath, running your fingers across the paper as you tried to identify the images.

"Mantis, let's switch, I don't think I'm getting anything..." You start to say softly looking at your book, when you glance at your friend however, you frown in confusion. She has her gaze glazed on your cup, one hand covering her mouth, "Mantis, what happened?"

She gasps softly, and you straighten your position as you notice a thick tear running down her cheek, feeling your heart soar with worry.

"I'm... I'm so sorry." She sighs breathlessly, dropping her cup on the table. The noise attracts everyone's attention, but Mantis is getting up the next moment, and running out of the room. You stand up, but Professor Heimdall puts his hand on your shoulder.

"Don't worry, miss Stark." He says. "It's common for those more sensitive to divination to have that kind of reaction in their first contact with the spirit world." He explains with a tender look. You don't understand why, but his voice calms you. "Go back to your activity, I will talk to your friend."

He waves to the rest of the room next, and then leaves. You sit back down, exchanging worried glances with Gamora and Nebula who are at the table in front of you. 

Your first action is to look at the cup that Mantis has thrown on the table, but the impact has broken it at the bottom, and the liquid has run down the cloth. You sigh in dissatisfaction, using your wand to clean up the mess.

When class is over, Gamora and Nebula quickly join you.

"Any idea what that was about?" Gamora asks as you walk together through the castle. 

"No, she just got a glazed look in her eyes, and then she ran off." You count. "I'll try to ask her in potions class."

"Maybe she saw some evil omen." Nebula comments, and Gamora elbows her in the stomach. "Ouch."

You frown worriedly.

"Does that mean something bad is going to happen to me?"

Gamora denies with her head, forcing a smile as if trying to reassure you.

"Bad omens can be many things, even something silly, like losing a sock in your room." She says and you leave your hands in your pockets, not feeling reassured by this information.

"Yeah, but Mantis wouldn't cry over a sock." You retort and Nebula nods in agreement, but Gamora has a serious expression.

"I'd rather think it's nothing bad." She says. "Professor Heimdall said it's normal for sensitive students to have that reaction, isn't it?" She adds and you shrug. "Maybe she's just been watching you lose a game or something, but she was so overwhelmed with having seen something, that she got emotional."

"I hope you're right." You grumble as you reach the stairs. You sigh. "See you at lunch, girls. Have a good History of Magic class."

Gamora and Nebula wave goodbye and head in the opposite direction from you after they watch the staircase move.

You hurry to avoid being late for potions.

//-//

Mantis doesn't come to the dungeon either. You poke Quill in the back as he sits down in front of you, and ask if he's seen her anywhere, but he shrugs, worried that you don't know either. You just sigh, telling him what happened in class.

"I'm glad I didn't take that subject." He says as he hears the story. "I've heard that some people learn to see the day that the other person is going to die. That's scary."

You laugh incredulously.

"That sounds like a lie."

Quil shrugs his shoulders. "That's what I heard."

You wish you could talk more, however Professor Erik entered the room the next moment, and everyone fell silent. You tried to forget about the divination class by concentrating on making your poison antidote correctly next.

//-//

You only found Mantis at lunchtime.

Or rather, she found you.

You had just come out of charm class, and she was waiting for you outside. You looked at her with surprise and concern, but she just smiled, looking much more relaxed than earlier.

"I'm sorry I disappeared." She says. "Professor Heimdall thought it best that I get some rest, and then he taught me some things about aural sensitivity."

"I don't know what that means." You comment making her smile. 

"It doesn't matter." She says. "I'm sorry for scaring you earlier."

You shake your head.

"Mantis, come on, no need to stress about it." You retort. "I was worried about you, and I'm sure it wasn't your fault." 

Mantis smiles, looking forward. You bite the inside of your cheek, finding her strangely calm and distant.

"Do you remember what you saw in my cup?" You ask hesitantly, and a small glint passes through Mantis' eyes, but then she smiles quietly, denying it.

"It was no great thing, I believe." She says. "Professor Heimdall has assured me that it must have been just a bad memory, and that there is nothing to worry about."

You frown, but something in Mantis' expression tells you that she just won't talk about it anymore. Not wanting to make your friend uncomfortable, you don't press the issue again.

//-//

It's Christmas again, and you don't go home.

This year Hogwarts is much emptier than it usually is, and you know that it's because of the dementors. 

The vast majority of the families, even those who usually leave their children at Hogwarts, have asked the students to return home. Your father briefly mentioned in his last letter how there were many requests for shift changes during the holiday period.

Tony also stayed in the castle, you knew he was planning to enter the forbidden section of the library, and he had told you to mind your own business when you asked if you could help.

Surprisingly, Gamora and Nebula returned home. It was very unusual because Thanos didn't like parties, but they promised to write to you. Mantis always returned home, so you just handed over your present before hugging her goodbye. Quill and the Maximoffs stayed with you.

"You know you're losing right?" you remarked with amusement as you were spending time with your friends in the Gryffindor communal room, a wizard chessboard in front of you. Quill let out an annoyed groan. 

"That game is harder than it looks." He grumbled looking at the pieces. " Knight move to E3 please."

The piece moved, cursing softly that Quill was making a stupid move, and you laughed.

"Can't you see her bisbe right there you idiot? "Squinted the black item, and Quill sighed in irritation.

"You want to play by yourself, do you?" He retorted, and Pietro and Wanda who were watching you two, giggled.

"Are you talking to the game, Quill?" Pietro teased as if the boy in front of him was crazy. 

After you beat Peter, it was your turn to face Pietro. He was a much better player, but he still made a lot of thoughtless moves.

Someone walked past the door, and you heard noises of footsteps, and then there was a girl joining you all.

"Hey, Monica!" Pietro greeted the girl cheerfully as soon as he saw her. The girl smiled at him. "Guys, this is Monica Rambeau, she is..."

"Professor Rambeau's daughter." Quill completes as if it is obvious. And you and Wanda smile at the girl. "Everybody knows Monica, man."

"What are you guys doing?" The girl asks curiously.

"Playing chess."

"Losing at chess, you mean right?" you tease with a smile. Pietro and Quill laugh in agreement, Wanda is distracted by the book in her hands.

"Do you want to hang out with us?" Pietro asks.

"Actually, I'm going to go outside." Monica says excitedly. "I just went in to get a coat. Darcy and I are going to make a snowman. Why don't you guys join us?"

You exchange glances with your friends. They all seem to think the same thing. And that's how you end up in the outside yards, in a snowball war.

" Back off, Pietro, I'm on your team!" You yell at the older Maximoff who has just hit you with an icy snowball to the chest. Pietro laughs.

"In war it's every man for himself!" He shouts running toward you. You laugh as you run away from him, preparing to hit Quill who is in the opposite direction.

"Hey, get down!" You heard someone shout and you turned around, obeying the order as soon as you noticed Darcy's raised arm toward you. She threw a snowball at someone behind you, and you laughed when Pietro let out an exclamation. Running toward the girl, you thanked her with a wave of your hand before running back. 

After hitting Monica and Quill twice, you ran out of Pietro's reach when he appeared at your side, laughing. Stumbling, you ended up miscalculating your speed, and knocked Wanda down next.

"That's a foul." Joked Pietro as he watched you two fall, laughing along with both of you. Before he could throw a snowball at you, Quill was back and he ran. You helped Wanda up as you apologized for knocking her down.

"One point each." She says holding the snowball at chest height. You smile, and wait for her to throw the snow at you. She laughs when she has done so gently, pushing the ball against your shoulder, the icy liquid running down your blouse making you shiver slightly. 

You pick up a snowball from the ground next, but when you look at Wanda, her face flushed with cold, and emerald eyes sparkling with amusement, you don't have the heart, and just smile wryly, making her look at you curiously.

"What is it?" she asks confused by the way you are just looking, making no mention of throwing the snow at her.

But the moment was broken next, when you all heard an animalistic noise nearby, and turned your heads with curiosity.

A few meters away was the guardian of the lands, Drax, leading a line of winged horses through the snow. You and your friends let out a chorus of excitement.

"Wow, look at the size of those horses." Pietro commented looking in the same direction. 

"They're not horses, people!" Monica exclaimed excitedly. "They're unicorns! Mom said we were going to study them next class don't you remember?"

Only when Monica said this did you squeeze your eyes shut to get a better look, and you could see the white horns in the distance. Drax waved at you from a distance when he noticed that you all were looking. He led the horses to the area where the class on Magical Creatures was usually held, and you saw that Professor Rambeau was waiting for him.

After that, it seemed to get colder. And you all decided to go inside and have some hot chocolate, as you took your friends into the kitchens. The elves were happy to serve you sweet breads and cakes, even outside of dinner time.

//-//

On Christmas morning, all of your friends, including Tony and Natasha who was Tony's only friend to stay at Hogwarts, gathered at the same table in the main hall for the gift exchange.

"Stop fussing, boy, you'll mess up the presents!" You heard Darcy complain to Quill. She and Monica were also with you because Pietro invited them. Neither of you guys minded, because they were very nice.

"I'm just trying to get a peek." Retorted Peter raising the gift package in the air out of Darcy's reach.

"It's not your gift, so you can't look!" 

You laughed at the interaction, finishing opening the package in front of you. Natasha had given you a new collection of wand care products and you loved it.

"You do need to take better care of your wand indeed." Teased Tony when he saw the gift. You laughed while waving a middle finger at him, and stood up to hug Nat in appreciation.

Most of the gifts were clothes, and candy. You bought a collection of exploding snap cards for Quill, and he was very pleased, already throwing the cards on the table to play with everyone. Pietro and Monica eventually agreed to participate, while Darcy watched them.

"That's mine right there." You said shyly to Wanda as she picked up one of the packages from the stack. "I hope you like it."

Wanda bit her lower lip in anticipation as she opened the package. And when the red scarf became visible, she fell silent, and it was your turn to be nervous.

"I know you're from Slytherin and all, but I've noticed that you really like red." You hasten to justify. "And then I saw this scarf in Hogsmeade and I remembered that day after charms class that you forgot your scarf and Pietro lent you his and so I thought it would be a good idea and..."

"I loved it." She interrupts looking at you. Her cheeks redden and a tender smile on her lips. You relax with relief immediately.

"Oh, right." You say. "Good, then."

You think you've been looking into Wanda's eyes too long, because your face is starting to heat up. But Peter gives a celebratory shout for getting the card move right, and you and Wanda look away quickly. She puts on her scarf next, and you look down at your lap to hide the silly smile that insists on escaping your lips.

//-//

When classes at Hogwarts return, the Dementors leave.

Apparently there was a big commotion in the Ministry of Magic. You hear many students commenting on this during the class break. And then there is a story in the Daily Prophet saying that Korvac was killed in combat with aurors in London, but there are also many people saying that this is a lie, and that he has run away again and the Ministry of Magic doesn't want to assume to the public.

Anyway, Headmistress Harkness removes the dementors from the castle and the atmosphere in the school improves considerably.

Nebula has a large purple mark on her left eye when she returns. Gamora tells everyone that she fell off her broomstick. You choke when she tells only you that it was Thanos who did this after he caught her snooping in his office.

"You can't tell anyone about this, okay?" She asks tearfully and you nod frantically, hugging her to calm her down. "I've never seen our father like that."

"It's okay now, Gamora." You say tightening in your embrace. "I will help you."

When you write to your father, asking what to do in a situation where the dangers are indoors, he says that Stark Mansion is big enough to accommodate your friends.

When you come home for the vacations after doing very well on your final exams, Gamora and Nebula are with you.

[sirensmojo]

"Depth Over Distance" Hubby! Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Angst & Fluff.

Summary: Tommy remembers the time he fell in love with you when he realizes that you are falling out of love with him.

A/N: It's Tommy's point of view all along. [it was supposed to be out yesterday but I fell asleep WAY TOO SOON and on my computer....]

PS: Inspired by "Keep your Head up" by Ben Howard.

*Masterlist*

*Arrow House*

The clock was ticking, it was the only sound that could be heard in the office, along with the smoke Tommy exhaled. His eyes were blankly staring at the void forward him, his vision blurred by his thoughts.

She was standing in the chair right in front of him but she wasn’t saying anything, she probably didn’t even notice he was standing near her.

She wouldn’t even look at him in the eyes anymore or even throw a single glance his way. He used to say he’ll not eat with Y/N when just coming home from the House Of Commons, but for several months she wasn’t even expecting him at all. When he would arrive late for dinner, he would rush to the dining room but found it empty.

No plates on the table, and no Y/N waiting for him. It was maids that would welcome him and tell him his wife took supper earlier before going to bed, using the excuse that “she had to wake up early”.

What was she doing early in the morning anyway?

Why was she out all day long? But most of all, why wasn't she looking at him anymore?

Y/N and Tom met during the war, she was a nurse in his department. Being a tunneler meant you weren’t going out often, but when you did, it was solely to put out the bodies of the dead or reach for help for those who were deeply wounded.

He remembers she used to always come to him to take care of his scars when he refused to let anyone touch him until all his soldiers would be taken care of.

She wasn’t saying anything when he would do so, but her eyes… Tommy remembers vividly the way she was looking at him, the aggressive burning fire that was animating her eyes and her stern look contrasting with the way her lids softly fluttered whenever he would catch her looking at him.

She used to panic a little before understanding it was his way to tell her she could take care of his wounds and scars.

Her touches were so soft and sweet, her skin was always smooth and cold. Not in a bad way, it was easing his own that was burning like hot coals.

Being under the ground in very tiny tunnels with all his soldiers, Tommy had to take on his shoulders an amount of pressure no one could ever even imagine, he had to give them orders and lead them to death from time to time. No errors would be acceptable, so he had to calculate everything for everyone.

The air down there was toxic, hot and tense. That’s why he loved Y/N’s skin being cold, it would remind him about the life above the ground, what fresh air felt like, and even if at the time he hadn’t had much space to think about that, she was bringing him hope.

A hope that would be killed as soon as he was back in the tunnels, but still. He could taste hope somehow, so it was better than nothing.

When returning home, he forgot about her for some time, but soon enough, the universe, destiny, or whatever, sent his angel back in the streets of small heath.

She was working in a bakery, and soon, Thomas was bringing bread everywhere he would go. Even in family meetings or the betting shop. Every occasion was an invitation to visit the woman that didn’t seem to recognize him… Or so he thought.

“Y/N! Give your Sergent Major what he needs and close the shop! We need you at the back!”

Her cheeks reddened.

“I’m coming!” Y/N responded by turning her head to the back door before slowly facing Tommy again. She was keeping her head down, but when she met the icy blue staring-eyes of the man she once knew in another time, she cleared her throat and gained composure again.

“So what do you want?”

“Huh?” He responded, aghast.

“What bread this time?” She answered back and he raised his brows.

“You remember me?” He will not order anything, but he wanted the truth.

“Who can forget what happened there.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement and the bitter tone of her voice alarmed him. Did he do something to her personally or was that tone about the war itself? Tom was confused.

He frowned and was staring at the woman in front of him.

“You heard my boss, I gotta close.” She let out before she walked around the counter to join him. She seemed to be aware he was going there only to see her, that’s why she didn’t wait any longer to put him out of the bakery shop.

Tommy, that was now out, under the rain, turned back to look at her through the windows, confusion filling his eyes.

She was aware of his scheme and she indeed kicked him out the shop.

Her attitude made him forget he was a peaky blinder and that he should be served like a fucking Prince. With her, he only felt like a simple man. Not that it was a bad thing, but since he returned his business was the only thing he could think about until he saw her again.

Now she became the key to this other dimension where Tommy Shelby was just Tommy Shelby, not the leader of a backstreet gang, not the head of the Shelby family, no. None of those things mattered or even existed in that dimension. It was just him, her, and the way she was looking at him.

Tom maybe didn’t know what to say that day, but he eventually came back the next day with only one purpose: She will not kick him out this time. This wasn’t too ambitious, or was it?

Because last time she made no effort to kick him out. Her Y/C/E eyes were enough for Tommy to be unable to say anything back.

But he wanted to believe this time will be different.

He pushed the heavy glass door and entered, no clients. He quickly glanced behind the counter but he was surprised to see a blonde girl. It wasn’t Y/N.

“Mr Shelby!” The woman began, a huge smile on her face, she surely knew about his position in this town. “What brings you here? Can I help you?”

But he glimpsed a form, in the tiny room at the back of the shop, and here she was, lifting huge bags of flour from the ground.

He turned back to the girl that was speaking to him and cleared his throat, “Give me my everyday order.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand… It’s my first time serving clients, I do not know what you usually take…” She seemed sorry and scared. So, she heard about what happened when the peaky blinders didn’t have what they wanted.

He got out a cig, lightening it up slowly before puffing on it and lifted his eyes back on the woman, “Well, bring someone who knows.” Was all he said.

“Y/N, please come!” The blondie girl ran to the back door.

“Is it something you do often, to frighten people?” Y/N asked, outright, when nearing the counter.

“Give me my everyday order.” He was looking deep into her eyes, and he could swear he saw her gritted her teeth as the muscle of her jaw tensed.

She grabbed a couple of pieces and wrapped them in fabric, shaking her head.

“Is it something you want to tell me?” He raised his brows, still smoking.

She handed him his order and exhaled, “I don’t understand why you chose that path. Haven’t you got enough with the killings?” She looked at him straight in the eyes, and he would swear she was looking into his soul.

Tommy didn’t say anything for a moment, his body stiffened. It was when his cigarettes burnt his knuckles that he blinked, grunting. He frowned and looked at the burning on his pale skin as the cigarette fell on the ground.

How did she do that? It was as if she understood him better than he did. And her words made him feel like he was cheating on himself.

She grabbed his hand in both of hers, which startled the man that looked up to her face.

It had been forever he hadn't seen her that close, her hair falling perfectly on each side of her face, framing her judging look. “Now you act like you don’t remember who you are, huh? Or maybe you truly forgot.”

Her words echoed in his mind but he was still desperately searching for their meaning. What was she saying?

“So, you hate me.” He concluded, not because that was what he thought but because it was his way of knowing what he truly wanted to know without directly asking her a question. He didn’t need her to think he cared what she thought, even if that was the case.

She put his knuckle in her mouth while frowning at him,” No, I don’t hate you, of course, no.” She was taken aback by his remark. As if it was the dumbest thing she'd ever heard.

“So, what is it? You always be looking at me with those eyes,” he pointed to her with his free hand. That’s when he realized his finger in her mouth, making him flutter his lids a couple times out of confusion, “like I did something wrong.” He concluded while staring at her mouth.

Y/N scoffed, “Stop speaking in the name of my eyes. It’s not my fault if you see your own conscience in them.” She said as letting go of his finger.

She pulled his arm, leading him in the tiny room at the back of the bakery shop. “Sit.” She motioned a dusty table and two chairs while she went away.

Tommy obeyed, patiently waiting for her.

He rewinds the time and hears her voice again, “It’s not my fault if you see your own conscience in them”, well. Maybe she was right. Maybe all of the things he thought he saw in her was in imagination, but here he was, about to have a full conversation with the woman that saw the real him.

“Give me your finger,” she let out while sitting right next to him. “I never hated you, Tommy. It’s who you become that I can’t stand. I thought you discovered your true self there, I guess I was wrong.”

“Don’t speak in my name. It’s not my fault if you see a version of me you want to see and not who I am.”

She lifted her gaze to his, “I saw you looking at your soldiers there. You felt powerless in front of their distress, and it seemed to burn you from the inside. I’m not lying.” She said, putting some kind of liquid on his burn.

“That’s why I become who I’m becoming.” He snapped back, staring at her movements, wincing of pain.

“To never be powerless…” She muttered utterly to herself, but he heard her, and noticed her nodding to herself, she was genuinely trying to understand him.

“And I saw you.” She tied a piece of tissue around his knuckle before exhaling deeply.

“Back then, yea” He completed before she could add anything as if to let her know he wasn’t the same anymore.

“It’s so depressing how you want everything out of life but not the life itself.” She smiled at him faintly, raising a hand to his cheek.

She fondled his skin and shamelessly brought her lips to his, kissing him softly.

Tommy was surprised but in a good way. Now he was sure about what he felt between them since the war.

He put a hand at the back of her head, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss, his other hand she took care of cupped one of her cheeks, tenderly.

He couldn’t believe it was the same Y/N in his vivid memories that was ignoring him right now.

He wanted to say something, but the words refused to form in his mind, and his voice was tied in his throat.

He knew she never approved his business even if she never said anything, and he was pretty sure this was the reason he was forced to watch the spaces grow between them.

A heaviness settled on his chest, making him cough even harder than usual. He abruptly crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and clenched his jaw as he grabbed the paper Y/N was reading.

He wanted her attention, he wanted her to look at him the way she used to. He wanted to see his own conscience in her eyes, he needed his wife. And she wasn’t there anymore, or maybe it was him who wasn't there?

Maybe the fact he entered politics was the last straw that broke the camel’s back? It was love or business and he made a decision.

That last thought made sense and would explain why she didn’t even look at him after he grabbed the paper and just left the office without saying anything.

(...)

In the morning, as he just entered the Shelby Brother Company Limited’s office, he saw his wife, sitting in one of the two armchairs in front of his desk.

“Y/N.” His voice was full of expectations.

When he saw the suitcase near her legs, he realized what was bound to happen.

“Sit.” She spoke with a low voice. And that’s when he realized...

It was him who changed. She was still as calm as usual, her hair still perfectly framing her face by falling at each side of her head.

Her Y/C/E eyes that, for the first time in months, met his blue ones were still animated by the same burning fire that when he found her in the bakery shop.

She was the same.

He came and sat at his desk, taking advantage of the fact she didn’t refuse to look at him, to stare at her face, printing as many details as he could before she would vanish, because that’s what she’ll do. He knows it.

“You had been away.” He succeeded saying. He didn’t want her to go silent again or to ignore him, so he made a step towards her, hoping she would do the same.

Tommy didn’t speak the first words coming to his mind, he meant something while saying this.

He wasn’t talking about distance here, no. He was talking about depth, she had been far too in-depth for him to reach for her.

She seemed to understand the depth he meant because she quickly looked away, fleeing the judgment in his icy stern eyes.

“Keep your mind set in your ways. It’s who you are now.” She mutters, giving him a faint smile.

He knew a ‘but’ would be coming at some point, he was patiently waiting for the sentence to drop on his head, so she could finish him off as if her ignoring him didn’t already do enough damage.

“It’s the time we go separate ways, Tom. But it’s okay, cause I’ll always remember you the same….” She tilted her head to the side, closing her eyes abruptly. A couple of tears racing at the corners of her eyes, “Eyes like wildflowers… with your demons of change.”

So that was it, he was right, he was the one who let her down, the one who changed.

“May you find happiness there… May all our hopes all turn out right.” She concluded, finally opening back her eyes.

He closed his eyes at each of her sentences, they were like bullets to him. One hitting him deeper than the previous.

No tears were to be found in her eyes anymore, it was his Y/N right here, right there. The one that once saw him, but couldn’t see him now.

[goulets]

Heartland

Chapter: 3/8 Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson Additional Characters: Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne, Colin Wilkes, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake, Duke Thomas Rating: T (for now) Case Fic / Kid Fic a03 link

The library has its benefits: no harassment from over-familiar family members, no Dick sexually frustrating him within an inch of his life, and, if he’s willing to be a little sentimental, he kind of does want to show it to the baby. She’s too young to appreciate it, probably, but it stirs something in him to share it with her all the same. He’s heard it’s never too early to get kids into reading - his parents sure as hell never tried, but Jason had read anything he could get his hands on, once he learned how. It had saved him, back then. Maybe it can do the same for her one day.

“Could’ve sworn Bruce had a Dr. Seuss anthology somewhere in here,” he says to her, combing over the shelves with his eyes. “Guess not. You up for something more sophisticated?”

She grunts, squeezing his shirt in her fist. “Alright,” he agrees, pulling Twelfth Night off the shelf. “Shakespeare it is. You’ve got taste, kid.”

***

(dick)

Venice is a nightclub that has gone by many names during its Gotham tenure, and just as many owners. Dick has been undercover here at least twice, back when the club was catering to the wealthier patrons of Little Italy. The current management clearly hasn’t bothered with maintaining that exclusivity - the building is now shabby and outdated, even for this neighborhood. One thing that hasn’t changed, though, is the real draw of Venice, which is the illegal casino in the back rooms beyond the VIP lounge. Through all the club’s owners, the casino has always been run by the Falcones, and always frequented by the city’s most morally flexible elected officials. In the past four nights that Dick’s been staking the place out, he’s seen five judges, two city council members, and even the new police commissioner slipping out the back door into the alley, stinking of gin and cigar smoke and patting their coat pockets with an air of satisfaction. It’s good intel to have, Barbara’s told him. Always helpful to keep the files updated on who’s being bought and by whom. None of that really makes him feel better about the fact that he’s been staking this place out for four nights and still hasn’t managed to pin down their actual target.

It’s embarrassing, is what it is. He’s Nightwing, for God’s sake. He’s taken down whole Russian mobs in Bludhaven, and now he’s being completely eluded by a third-string Falcone no one’s even heard of.

Oracle had ID’d the doer of the Torres/Howard murders in a matter of hours, true to her word, and the ballistics had predictably matched up with a few other murders that the police never bothered investigating. Susanna “Susie” Falcone, a second cousin once removed with a rap sheet that puts many of her relatives to shame. Her name must still have some pull in political circles, because she’s only done time once, in spite of being indicted almost a dozen times. Gotta love good old fashioned judicial corruption, Jason had said. No one had been able to argue, looking at the number of charges dismissed.

All in all, it was supposed to be a fairly simple tag-and-bag. Once they’d found her place of work - officially, the Venice nightclub, unofficially, the family casino - he’d been tasked to track her, question her, and then turn her in to the police. He’d chosen his stakeout perch well, on a hotel roof high above the alley, he’d followed her, unseen, and so far, she’s given him the slip every freaking time. The woman has vanished through every doorway from here to Robinson Park, as only the most enterprising criminal can. Were this a different kind of case, Dick might have been impressed.

Instead, he’s annoyed, and having to compromise - his vantage point is lower, closer but more exposed in the thin shadows of a third story construction platform right above the alley. He can see the door to the club without any difficulty, but the moment he moves, he’ll be open to attack.

He’ll just have to move fast. Fortunately, that’s what he’s best at.

There’s a soft motion behind him, almost quiet enough to escape his notice entirely. It’s Jason - Dick hadn’t expected him to actually turn up. No doubt he’s here to make sure they finally succeed in catching their mark tonight, but he’s been so adamant about not leaving Danielle with anyone except Dick that it’s still a surprise to see him. What’s equally surprising to Dick is that he was apparently hoping Jason would show, if the relief he feels at seeing him is anything to go by.

It’s a nice moment of solidarity, until Jason opens his mouth. “So, fourth night’s a charm, huh?”

Dick bristles. “What happened to not leaving the baby?” he retorts.

Jason bristles back, but doesn’t rise to the bait. It’s a little wrongfooting - a reminder that things are changing between them. Dick is used to the veneer of antagonism that hangs over his relationship with Jason, the unresolved tension they both pretend not to notice. They’d gotten into a pretty good groove when he was acting as Batman, staying out of each others’ way for the most part, and working together when necessary. Dick’s pretty sure Jason doesn’t actually harbor any murderous feelings towards him, just like he doesn’t actually hate Bruce, no matter what he says.

“The girls and Alfred ganged up on me,” Jason says, leaning back against the scaffolding. “Whatever. I needed to get the hell out of there anyways. I don’t know how you stand being around them all so much.”

Dick laughs. “They’re not as interested in me,” he admits. “I’m not the cool sibling.”

Jason doesn’t respond right away. It's hard for Dick to tell, when he’s wearing the helmet, but he thinks Jason is probably waiting to see if Dick is joking. It’s another way things have shifted between them - Jason’s holding back, not jumping straight to lashing out, like he used to. It should be a good thing - it is a good thing, but it’s throwing him off balance all the same. He feels like he's spent most of the past several days looking for Jason, even when Jason is right in front of him. He’s used to trying to find the Jason he knows - or knew - the Jason who was taken away from him. Now there’s a new Jason, a Jason he’s still getting to know. Dick can’t choose between them, can’t decide which one he wants to find every time he looks at him. Maybe that’s why he can’t seem to find his one lousy mafia shooter.

“Looks like the cops are covering up the ballistics report on Reynolds,” Jason says, after a moment. “Go figure.”

Dick frowns. “Just Reynolds?”

Jason grunts. “Hold on. What.”

Dick turns to look at him.

“Did you burp her?”

Oh, Dick realizes, he’s on the comm. Someone back at the Manor must have pinged him on a private line.

“Then get Alfred to do it.”

It’s curious that the ballistics on Cy Reynolds’ murder are the ones being suppressed, Dick thinks. He was the only one killed with a submachine gun - the bullets from most of the other crime scenes had come from a standard Beretta APX, and the object of his stakeout, Susie Falcone, had used a Glock on Danielle’s parents. The Glock matched a few other shootings, the Beretta matched none. None of that is particularly noteworthy - after all, Susie is a criminal, and Beretta shell casings are a dime a dozen at any mob shooting.

“Fine. I’ll check back in five. If you asswipes don’t pick up, I’m coming back there.” Jason makes an aggravated noise in the back of his throat, which Dick takes to mean he’s hung up.

“Everything OK?”

“Just peachy. By some cosmic fucking joke, I’m the only person in the family who can get the baby to take a damn bottle. I told her they just need to burp her, but I guess that’s too complicated a task for a family of genius detectives,” Jason grumbles. “I knew I shouldn’t have left her. Shit.”

“Jay, relax. She’s fine.” Dick can’t help but grin at him. It’s honestly sweet, the way Jason and the baby have gotten attached to each other. Dick likes to think he’s her second favorite, but it’s pretty hard to tell. No matter who’s holding her, she’s always looking at Jason, and Jason never stops looking at her.

“It’s fucking cold out here,” Jason says mulishly.

Dick raises an eyebrow. “I noticed. It’s April, not August. If you really want to go back, I’m not gonna stop you.”

“I don’t…” Jason sighs. “Look, I’m here, okay? You bungled this grade school op three nights in a row, so congrats, you triggered the bat buddy system. If I leave and you fuck it up again, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Dick supposes it’s his turn not to rise to the bait. “Fair enough,” he says easily, turning around to face the alleyway again. “What were you saying about the ballistics on Reynolds?”

“Oh, Oracle ran the bullets through Interpol. Turns out our ill-fated gang boss was offed by one of Carmine Falcone’s personal weapons. The record’s been scrubbed from US databases, but Babs had a hunch.” Jason sounds impressed.

“Been scrubbed meaning...there was a record,” Dick follows, “and some people might still remember, if they saw the bullets. Hence the coverup.”

“Yup. Hence the coverup.”

“Could explain what the commissioner was doing here the other night,” Dick muses.

Jason snorts derisively. “See, this is what I hate about the mafia. They’re so goddamn predictable. Kill the competition, pay off the cops, around and around forever. It’s so pedestrian.”

Dick laughs. “You’d rather deal with Clayface?”

“Fuck yes I would. Clayface has flair, you know? Anybody can be a mobster, shit.”

Jason has started shifting with agitation, or maybe impatience. Either way, their vantage spot isn’t hidden enough for him to be moving around. “Get low if you’re gonna be twitchy,” Dick tells him. “Or if you’re gonna have a cigarette, but I’d really rather you didn’t.”

“Lucky for you I quit then,” Jason says, crouching down next to him. “I’m not jonesing, I’m just fucking cold.”

“We could huddle together for warmth,” Dick jokes, grinning unabashedly when Jason’s helmet fixes him with a death glare. “Wait, you quit smoking? When?”

“When I started taking care of a baby, obviously.” Jason goes still, suddenly. “Is that her?”

The door to the alleyway opens, and they both tense - but it’s just a man, a bodyguard, by the looks of him. Close-cropped blonde hair, early 40s, used to throwing his weight around. Feeling there’s something familiar about him, Dick nudges Jason and motions for him to take a photo. Jason starts almost imperceptibly at the contact, but follows suit. They both hold perfectly still in the shadows as the man looks around, glances in a cursory way along the rooftops, and then sets off down the alley towards the street.

“I know him,” Jason mutters. “From Tim’s case files - he was with Intergang.”

Dick doesn’t say anything about Jason calling Tim by name, but it’s a welcome development. “Looks like he switched sides, if he’s hanging out here.”

“Wonderful,” Jason says. “All right, I’m gonna check on the kid again.”

Dick represses the urge to give him a shoulder squeeze, or ruffle his hair. It’d probably result in him getting shoved off the platform, but Jason’s being so....not different, because Dick’s always known that this Jason was still in him, somewhere. Always hoped, anyways. When Jason had been younger and acted like this, surly with his words but tender with his actions, Dick had always thought of him as cute. It’s like that now, too, except it’s not just cute, because Jason has several inches and at least two weight classes on him. It’s cute in a different way, an adult way. It’s cute in a way that makes Dick want to push harder against Jason’s armor, to catch as many glimpses of that side of him as he can. If he thinks about it too long, it’s cute in a way that makes him want, recklessly.

“Red Hood to Batgirl,” Jason says. He’s calling on the family line this time. “Give me an update.”

“You’re seriously a helicopter parent, you know that, Hood?” Steph laughs in Dick’s ear. “We figured it out. Well...Black Bat figured it out.”

Jason’s shoulders sag a little in relief. Cute, Dick thinks, involuntarily. He needs to get a grip. “About fucking time.”

“She prefers being propped up,” Cass says. “It helps her swallow.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier. And she likes her back straight.”

“You said none of that, actually,” Steph says. “You just told us to support her head. Which we have been, thank you very much.”

“You have her now?”

“Robin has her.”

Dick and Jason look at each other. Jason says, “What the fuck?”

“Right?” Steph sounds amused. “I was surprised too....his friend is here, that ginger kid? He’s the one that took her from the orphanage, right?”

“Batgirl, I swear to god, if anything happens to her - ”

“Oh, calm down, jeez,” Steph groans. “They’re being supervised, okay? It’s honestly precious, you would agree with me if you could see it. I’ll text the pictures to N.”

“Please do,” Dick says. Speaking of cute, in a way that’s much safer to think about.

“Go do your job now,” Cass tells them. “We’re handling it.”

“Yeah, what she said. Batgirls out.”

“Feel better?” Dick asks, after a moment.

“Don’t ask me that,” Jason grouses. “And show me those pictures when you get them.”

Dick grins. “Sure, Jay.”

“Ugh.”

Dick decides to change the subject, before Jason gets too antsy and tries to bail. “So how do you want to play this, when Susie shows?”

Jason points to a dumpster halfway down the alley. “We wait until she’s there. I’ll get the club door, put a taser on it to stop her getting back in or anyone else from coming out. You cut her off before she gets to the street, and we question her on the backside of the dumpster. I’ll take line of sight, since I’m packing.”

Dick nods. “So is she.”

“So is every goon in those back rooms, sure. That’s why we lock their asses in.”

“And if they come out the front?”

Jason spins a gun in his hand. “Rubber bullets do the job just fine if you know how to aim. Let me worry about the backup.”

Another thing that’s changed about Jason - or that hasn’t changed, depending on how far back Dick looks. He uses rubber bullets now, whenever he’s working a case with one of them. Supposedly it’s a stipulation from Bruce, but Jason didn’t use lethal force on the couple cases he and Dick worked together, either, back when Dick was wearing the cowl. Dick thinks Bruce just gave him an excuse - whatever bloodlust Jason was fueled by when he first came back to Gotham has long since dried up. There are still things that set him off - Barbara had informed them about a dead rapist in the Narrows just last month - but Bruce hadn’t even commented on it, besides the barest acknowledgment. Dick thinks he might be the only one that actually cares when Jason kills someone, anymore. And what’s really disturbing is that he’s not actually sure how much he cares. For instance, he knows Jason has a third gun, holstered under his jacket, loaded with live ammo. He could call Jason out on it, insist he ditch it or at the very least unload it.

He says nothing. Let me worry about the backup. If this mission ends in a massacre, Dick will only have himself to blame.

The door opens again, and out steps Susie Falcone.

She immediately looks around, staying still in the doorway for a minute or more. Dick is pretty sure she hasn’t seen him following her, but he’s familiar with the sensation of being watched. He and Jason both shrink further into the shadows, waiting for her to make a move.

The whole process takes about six seconds. The moment she gets a few paces into the alley, they drop down. Jason electrifies the door handle, and Dick outmaneuvers her easily, slapping his police-issue cuffs on her and kicking her gun aside, then spinning her into the wall behind the dumpster. She hits it with a grunt. By the time she’s glaring at him, Jason is at his side again.

“Nightwing and Red Hood?” she says. “Damn. Didn’t expect to see you fellas out here.”

She doesn’t seem scared of them. Dick guesses they’ll have backup coming their way soon.

“Hey, what do you know,” Jason says conversationally, picking up the gun and emptying the clip in one swift motion. “Nightwing, I do believe this is our Glock.”

“Not mine,” Susie objects. “Picked it up off the club floor.”

“Come on, Susie, you’re smarter than that.” Jason crosses his arms. “Look, I can appreciate a sensible weapon. The Berettas the rest of your family favors? Too flashy for me. I loved Sopranos as much as the next guy, but come on.”

Dick suppresses a laugh. “Thought you were a Sig man,” he says in an undertone. He hadn’t expected Jason to take the lead, but it’s working. Susie looks agitated at the mention of her family.

“Wow, stalker. Remind me to move safe houses,” Jason quips back. “Aw, look, she slipped your cuffs.”

There’s a taser in Susie’s newly freed hand, and Dick quickly sidesteps it, twists it out of her wrist and sends it clattering down the cobblestones of the alley. Jason sweeps her legs out from under her and knocks her down flat, maybe a little harder than Dick would’ve. Thankfully, she goes down without a fight.

“Let’s try this again,” Dick says, kneeling next to her and zip-tying her wrists. If he wasn’t sure before, he is now - she was expecting them. They won’t be alone for long. He throws a couple smoke pellets down to the ends of the alley, and clips a nearly invisible wireless mic to the shoelaces of her boot under the guise of patting her down.

“You’re obviously not surprised to see us, so just tell us what we want to know,” Jason tells her, squatting down. “I’ll be honest, I don’t really give a shit that you shot Big Mouth, but what did Linda Torres ever do to you?”

“Let me up,” Susie snarls.

“No. Talk, or I’ll give you a taste of that taser you tried to pull on us.”

“Hood,” Dick hisses.

“See? He knows I’ll do it. Save yourself the grief, Susie.” Jason points the barrel of his gun lazily at her temple.

Susie narrows her eyes. “Fine. The two of them robbed me, last September. Dumb motherfuckers didn’t know who they were messing with. But I let them live because the bitch was pregnant.”

Jason makes a noise of disbelief. “Oh, sure. You’re a real bleeding heart, is that it?”

“Like you’re any better,” Susie fires back.

“You said you waited on Linda because she was pregnant,” Dick says. “Why’d you wait to kill Big Mouth?”

Susie’s mouth twists. “Guess I just felt like it.” Dick doesn’t need to see the tension in her shoulders to know she’s lying.

“Strike two.” Jason clicks the safety off. “Who put the hits out?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Susie answers. “I’m dead if I talk, so pistol whip me if you want to. Here’s the God’s honest truth: I really didn’t need a reason to kill those assholes. I was out for ‘em anyways. But I’m not crazy enough to kill a baby, all right? I don’t need shit like that on my conscience.”

“Keep talking,” Jason growls. Dick hears the whoop of a siren a few blocks off. “Where’s the baby now?”

“Somewhere safe, I swear. If anybody comes for her, it won’t be me.”

Susie still thinks Danielle’s at the orphanage, then. That’s good for them, but potentially bad for all the other kids, Colin included. These guys clearly have no problem killing children, even if Susie won’t do it.

The sirens are getting closer. Someone inside must’ve called the cops. Dick motions to Jason, indicating they need to wrap things up.

“Who is coming for her,” Jason barks, every line of his body a threat. “You’ve got five seconds.”

“You don’t.” Susie looks triumphant. They can hear the shouts of police from behind the smoke. “But don’t worry, boys. You’ll find out who really runs this town soon enough.”

“Hood,” Dick mutters. “We need to go, cops in this neighborhood aren’t cape-friendly.”

Jason stands, visibly enraged, and for a moment Dick thinks he’ll shoot Susie anyways. He’s prepared to move - but then Jason pulls out his grapple, fires, and flies up onto the roof.

“Talk about a bleeding heart,” Susie says to Dick. “He have kids or something?”

Dick doesn’t like her tone of voice at all. She’s too relaxed, too unconcerned about being under arrest. She won’t stay in long.

“It’s Nightwing! Get your hands up!”

Dick obliges, ready to pull his escrima sticks.

Three police officers come through the smoke, weapons drawn. “You better have a damn good reason for being this far out of Bludhaven,” one of them shouts at Dick.

“Sure do!” Dick calls back. “Arrested a murderer for you, no need to thank me!”

“Shut up,” a different officer retorts. “Keep your hands up, pretty boy.”

“Oh, fuck this,” Jason mutters over the comm. “I’m throwing you an escape, we’ll recon on the library roof. Stop being so goddamn chatty.”

One smoke pellet later, Dick is three rooftops away and flying. He gets to the library before Jason, exhilarated as ever from a good run.

Jason drops down next to him after a minute or so, laughing when he gets a look at Dick’s smile. “Running from the cops still does it for you, huh?”

Dick elbows him, momentarily forgetting to keep his distance. “Doesn’t it for you?”

Surprisingly, Jason doesn’t move away. “Usually they’re shooting at me, so.”

Dick leans closer, testing. “So…yes?”

“You’re so annoying,” Jason says, but he lets Dick nudge his shoulder, bump their arms together. He’s so solid, Dick thinks. So big. More like Bruce than any of them.

“So, how fast do you think she’ll get out?” he asks, when Jason stays quiet.

“Fucking tomorrow, probably,” Jason sighs. “Next week if we’re lucky.”

“Sounds like she didn’t know about Danielle, at least.”

“She’s not the problem,” Jason says, shrugging Dick off and standing back up. “Falcones will blow up the whole orphanage if they get wind of it. We need to put them down first.”

“We need to find out who’s in charge,” Dick agrees. “I planted a mic on her shoe. In the laces. Hopefully she won’t find it for a few days.”

“Good thinking,” Jason nods. “You gonna keep patrolling?”

“Might as well,” Dick says, standing up next to him and stretching his arms over his head. “I’m still stiff from that stakeout, I need to move.”

Jason’s gone quiet again. Dick thinks he hears his breath catch, but the helmet muffles it enough that it could be a yawn.

“You’re going back to the manor?”

Jason groans. “Fuck my life, yes.”

“You miss her, huh.” Cute, his brain chants.

Jason doesn’t answer, but Dick has a feeling he’s getting the stink-eye.

“I miss her too,” Dick offers. “It’s okay.”

Jason sighs. “Dick…”

“It’s a good thing, Jay. You care about her! We all do,” Dick adds, seeing the rigidity in Jason’s posture. “I mean, you’re practically her parent right now. Of course you miss her.”

“...Don’t say it like that.” Jason’s voice is low, almost pained, and Dick knows he pushed too far. “Like…like I have a right to, okay, just. Don’t.”

“Jason, wait,” Dick starts, but he doesn’t get to finish. Without a backward glance, Jason fires off a line to the neighboring building, and then he’s gone.

***

(tim)

The docks are quiet, unsettlingly so, as Tim prowls around the towers of shipping containers, keeping to the deep shadows they cast along the chipped pavement. It’s overcast, so there’s no moonlight to expose him, but it’s also too dark to see which of the trucks and campers parked all over are occupied, which ones might suddenly turn their headlights on him and catch him out.

One truck in particular - an innocuous looking Isuzu with a stunningly weaponized interior, is the object of his search. The driver, Felipe, is one of Tim’s best informants within Intergang - or had been, prior to the upheaval. Tim’s reasonably sure that Felipe is too lowly a grunt to make an example of, but still, he’s concerned that he hasn’t heard from him in a few days.

As it turns out, he needn’t have worried. He finds Felipe a hundred yard away from his truck, taking a piss off the wharf. He lets himself into the passenger side of the truck, and immediately notes that it is packed. There’s hardly a spare inch in the back, and Tim has a tough time even getting into the passenger seat with all the bags, clothes, and blankets stuffed into it. He pushes the majority of it to the floor, and waits.

Felipe comes back a few moments later. He opens the door and starts, eyes going wide when he sees Tim, but Tim puts his finger to his lips and motions for Felipe to get in so they can talk.

“Red Robin,” Felipe says, once the door is closed. He looks even more shaken than usual. “What the fuck, man?”

Tim crosses his arms. “You tell me, Felipe. You’ve been dodging my calls for days, and now I find out you’re skipping town?”

“I ditched that phone, man. Boss Reynolds had my number in there, you know? Ditched it as soon as I heard about him. I wasn’t trying to ghost you, honest.”

“Relax,” Tim tells him. “I’m not mad. I’d dodge me, too. Just tell me what happened, and I’ll shadow you out of town. Make sure you’re not followed.”

“Shit, man,” Felipe sighs. “Okay, look. There’s shit I can’t tell you, not if I ever want to hench again. You gotta figure that all out yourself, yeah?”

Tim shrugs. “Fine.”

Felipe swallows. “It started last week when Boss Reynolds met with somebody - I don’t know his name, God as my witness, but from what I heard, ‘cause I was unloading some of that funky alien tech, and you know Boss Reynolds wanted to supervise that personally - anyways, this guy in a suit took a meeting with him, and it sounded like he was offering Boss Reynolds a job. Said he had a new operation, bigger than Intergang, bigger than anything Gotham’s seen in a while.”

“Did Reynolds believe him?”

“Nah, he told him to get lost. They had some words, and then everybody started pulling guns, and I went back to the ship so I didn’t get fuckin’ shot, but I didn’t hear anything after that. Next thing I saw, Boss Reynolds was calling his son up and telling him to demo some building down by the old boardwalk - a hotel, maybe. Guess he wanted to expand that way, I don’t know.”

“That was the old Falcone hotel,” Tim says, mostly just to see Felipe’s reaction. He isn’t disappointed - Felipe goes pale, and his eyes flash to the rosary hanging off his rearview mirror. Tim likes Felipe as an informant because he’s nosy, shockingly competent for a henchman, and because he really likes to gossip. He’s never held back on Tim before this.

“Few days later, one of ours, this merc named Tiberius, comes down to the warehouse and says he’s got something to show us. Takes out a fat fuckin’ folder full of pictures…man, it was some sick shit. Boss Reynolds, his wife, Reynolds Jr, and every fuckin’ guy under him. Kids, man. He just passed it around, made everyone look at it. Then he says, we can either be in the folder, or we can come meet the new boss.”

Felipe takes a shaky breath. “Obviously I go with Tiberius, like everyone else. I heard a couple guys stayed on the ship that was docked, thinking they’d wait ‘em out, but the new boss blew it up. Says we’re not in the tech business anymore, and anyone caught trying to smuggle it is gonna get tied to it and tossed in the harbor. You can imagine my concerns,” he says, gesturing to his truck. Tim estimates half or more of the weapons in it are salvaged from alien junk. Roy Harper would have a field day with the setup this guy’s made for himself.

“So that’s why you’re bailing,” Tim says, understanding. He can hardly blame the guy. “Why not just hide the truck somewhere?”

“Well…I did think about that,” Felipe admits. “Tiberius made us a pretty sweet pitch, once we went along with him. Not gonna lie, I was tempted. Tech is my thing, you know, but I can make a gun out of pretty much anything. I could see the possibilities, is what I’m saying, but that was before we met the new boss.”

Tim nods encouragingly. This is what he’s been waiting to hear.

“Listen, Red Robin - I know we’ve had our differences, but I respect you, man, you know that. You’ve been good to me, so I’m gonna give you some advice here. Stay the hell away from the new boss. Like, don’t even get involved. I’ve been henching for a while, and I’ve seen some messed up shit, but they are crazy. Está loca, you feel me? I’ve seen the hit list, and you’re right at the top of it. You and all the other capes. Half of Arkham, too. And they’re connected, like you wouldn’t believe. Shit, I’m already saying too much, man. You see the position I’m in here?”

“I do, Felipe,” Tim tells him. He hands over a stack of hundred dollar bills, their agreed-upon rate for information. “Where are you going?”

“You’re crazy too, if you think I’m telling you that,” Felipe scoffs.

Tim wasn’t expecting a straight answer anyways. “Fair enough. You heading out now?”

“Soon as you get the hell outta my car, yeah. You said you’d shadow me out?”

“I will,” Tim says. “From a distance. If you don’t see me, it means you’re clear to cross the bridge.”

“All right,” Felipe nods. “In that case, I hope I never see your ass again.”

Tim laughs, and climbs out of the truck.

He finds his own way out of the shipyard, pulls a bike out of a safe house, and catches up with Felipe’s GPS signal halfway to the Fashion District. Once he’s sure there’s no immediate threat, he calls Barbara.

“Red Robin to Oracle. I’m uploading a recording to the server.”

Barbara is in his ear at once. “You met with your informant?”

“He wouldn’t give me a name, but he let a couple things slip.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” she says.

“First, he flinched hard when I brought up the Falcone name.”

“Confirms what we already know,” Barbara says. “Good. There’s more?”

“There’s more.” Tim tries not to gloat. This is, after all, a serious situation. “He was being cagey about mentioning the leader’s gender, so I was already suspicious, but then said ‘está loca’ when he was trying to warn me.”

Barbara whistles. “Well,” she says, sounding satisfied. “That’ll certainly narrow it down.”

“Yep,” Tim says grimly. “Looks like the new head of the Falcone family is a woman.”

***

(jason)

When Jason was Robin, the library had always been his favorite room in the Manor. It had spoken easily to his idea of what wealth was - rich people had fancy cars, sure, and maybe pools and expensive wardrobes, but wealthy people had art collections, and gardens, and libraries. Jason had spent hours upon hours browsing the shelves, reading anything he could wrap his brain around (and plenty of things he couldn’t), suggesting additions to Alfred, and avoiding his schoolwork in favor of learning about more interesting things, like string theory, or cryptology, or chemical warfare.

That was then.

Now, the library is the only place he can get a minute of peace from the constant barrage of his obnoxious, nosy, boundaryless family members. They’ve been characteristically persistent in their curiosity about him, and about Danielle, who is now Dani, courtesy of Stephanie. This is a nickname family, she’d said, and Jason hadn’t known how to disagree. So now she’s Dani, and Jason is family, and that apparently means he is no longer entitled to any privacy, or personal space for that matter. The only person who hasn’t barged in on him is Bruce, which is almost worse, in a way, because it’s one thing when nobody seeks him out, and it’s quite another when everyone does and then Bruce...doesn’t. Not that he wants Bruce to come up and bother him, God. But he’s in the man’s house, he’s hearing him on the comm constantly either on patrol or down in the cave, and all the other Bat brats and even Alfred are buzzing around him like flies. It’s too much - it feels like before, except for Bruce’s conspicuous absence reminding him that it’s not.

Sharing a bathroom with Dick is another before experience that Jason didn’t need a repeat of. In some ways, it was worse when he was Robin - stripping and showering after patrol in the cave with Dick a few feet away from him is a memory he really wouldn’t have minded leaving back in the Pit - and in other ways, it’s worse now, because Dick is always freaking around. There’s no reprieve, he’s not flitting off to the Titans every week like he used to be. Jason hasn’t gone half a day without Dick getting in his space, drawing up close to him and making that earnest eye contact he’s so annoyingly good at; sometimes wet, sometimes half-naked, sometimes both. And what can Jason do? He’s not going to leave Dani, and he needs Dick to be there so he can get some sleep every once in a while, or patrol, or shower. It’s actually been pretty helpful to have him around, in that regard, but if he has to see the guy walking around with bedhead and nothing but a pair of boxer briefs on one more time, he’s going to fucking explode.

So, the library has its benefits: no harassment from over-familiar family members, no Dick sexually frustrating him within an inch of his life, and, if he’s willing to be a little sentimental, he kind of does want to show it to Dani. She’s too young to appreciate it, probably, but it stirs something in him to share it with her all the same. He’s heard it’s never too early to get kids into reading - his parents sure as hell never tried, but Jason had read anything he could get his hands on, once he learned how. It had saved him, back then. Maybe it can do the same for Dani one day.

“Could’ve sworn Bruce had a Dr. Seuss anthology somewhere in here,” he says to her, combing over the shelves with his eyes. “Guess not. You up for something more sophisticated?”

She grunts, squeezing his shirt in her fist. “Alright,” he agrees, pulling Twelfth Night off the shelf. “Shakespeare it is. You’ve got taste, kid.”

He wonders, not for the first time, what exactly he thinks he’s doing, playing at this whole parenting thing. The rational part of his brain knows that this is a case, that Dani is a victim, that Jason is protecting her because it’s his job. The emotional part of his brain has gone completely off the goddamn rails. Case in point: he’s here with her in the library, prepping her for early literacy like some kind of Crest Hill soccer mom wannabe. Like he’ll even be in her life when she starts doing her ABCs - God willing, she’ll be as far away from him as possible by the time that happens.

It’s fucking hard to think about. He never thought he’d get this attached to a person who can’t even burp on their own. It’s been over a week, and he still struggles with putting her down, with stepping away from her, even when he knows he’s coming right back. Steph and Damian have been wanting to hold her all the time, and Jason knows that they’re capable, knows he has no claim over Dani, doesn’t even mind either of them all that much under normal circumstances, and still, he can’t help feeling like something has reached inside and gripped at his heart every time he passes her over. Which is ridiculous, because she’s not his, he has no more claim over her than any other schmuck off the street. She’s just a kid with unbelievably bad luck, and he’s the idiot who followed Dick up the stairs instead of booking it out the door like a sensible person.

He settles down with her on the couch, propping her up on a couple of pillows, giving her foot a little squeeze. She squeals, smiling at him, and stuffs her fingers in her mouth. God, Jason didn’t know he could feel the way he feels whenever she smiles at him. It’s gonna kill him when he has to give her up.

“If music be the food of love, play on,” he reads, walking his fingers up her leg. “Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, the appetite may sicken, and so die.”

Dani watches him, chewing happily on her fingers. “‘O, it came over my ear like the sweet sound that breathes upon a bank of violets.’ That’s you, you know.” He pokes her in the cheek, grinning. If music be the food of love…but hell, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of this. Especially when she’s all calm and engaging, the precious few minutes that he’s learned to appreciate in between finishing eating and being tired and cranky, when all she wants to do is look around at things, and all Jason wants to do, ever, is look at her.

The door to the library opens, and Jason goes from content to murderous in a fraction of a second. “What the fuck is it now,” he hisses, expecting Damian or maybe Tim, coming to nag him some more, and instead sees Damian’s friend Colin, who looks horrified to have intruded on him. Jason immediately feels like the world’s biggest ass.

“Sorry,” Colin whispers, mortified, and Jason waves a hand apologetically.

“My bad, I didn’t know it was you. Come in, it’s fine. She’s awake, you don’t need to whisper.”

Colin looks unsure, but soon nods and steps into the library, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Once inside, he dawdles by the nearest bookshelf, clearly at a loss. Jason probably should’ve just let him back out, because this is awkward. Should he keep reading to Dani? Talk to Colin? Ask him why he looks like someone just kicked him and stole his dog?

“You good?” he ventures, figuring he ought to at least attempt to be the adult in the room.

Colin glances at him over his shoulder, smiling tentatively. “Yeah, just bored. Damian’s sleeping, we had a rough patrol last night.”

“We?” Jason repeats, stunned. Bruce isn’t an exemplar of child welfare practices, sure, but letting Damian take other kids on crime-busting playdates? What the hell?

“Oh, I guess you don’t know,” Colin frowns. “I’m….uh, it’s probably easier if I just show you.”

He slides his jacket off, threadbare t-shirt hanging off his skinny frame. Jason tenses, not sure what to expect. When Colin’s arm starts to expand, his eyes widen. By the time his fist is as big around as Jason’s thigh, he thinks his eyebrows have probably disappeared into his hairline.

“Oh.” Jason has no idea how he’s supposed to react to this. Is Colin a meta? He’s pretty sure he would know if Colin was a meta. “How…?”

“Scarecrow,” Colin explains. Jason’s heart sinks. “He experimented on me with synthetic Venom. Batman saved me.”

Dani fusses, twisting her body and scrunching her face up. Jason sympathizes - this conversation is giving him gas, too. “Shit,” he says. Not the most articulate way of expressing his condolences, but Colin’s friends with Damian, so tact can’t be of great importance to him. “I didn’t know.”

Dani starts to cry, and Colin takes a couple steps forward, putting Jason’s hackles up at once. Stop it, he tells himself sternly. He might have fallen down a few pegs, but he’s not pathetic enough to square up against an abused fifth grader. He picks her up, rubbing her back, and then glances over at Colin. The kid’s gone shy, looking down at a point somewhere between Jason’s legs and the floor. Jason feels all the hostility bleed out of him, and he sighs.

“You can sit down.” He gestures to the couch, trying to sound nonthreatening. Dani burps, mouths at his shirt, and then gurgles and kicks her legs again. She leans back against his hold to stare at Colin, and Colin’s face splits into a huge grin. He tucks himself down into the cushions, keeping plenty of space between them, but Jason can sense from the inclination of his body that he wants to be closer. Well, if anyone has a right to be close to Dani, it’s the kid who rescued her in the first place.

“Here,” he offers, turning Dani around in his arms. His heart clenches, and he clamps down on his desire to flee. “You can hold her for a minute, if you want to. She likes you.”

Colin looks at him, eyes shining. “Really?”

Jason nods. “Go ahead. Honestly, you probably know a lot more about this shit than I do.”

Colin takes Dani from him carefully, smiling at her and laughing when she reaches forward to grab at his jacket zipper. A few seconds later, it’s in her mouth, along with most of her fist.

“Should I…?” Colin looks at Jason hesitantly.

���I mean…she’s had worse things in her mouth,” Jason tells him. A ringing endorsement of his child-minding abilities right there. “It’s fine, right? That’s how they build an immune system, or whatever.”

“Well, Alfred washed this for me last night,” Colin admits, looking embarrassed. “So it shouldn’t be too gross.”

Jason leans back against the couch cushions, crossing his arms. “Getting all the perks, huh?”

Colin shrugs, casting his eyes down again. “I like it here.”

Considering where Colin grew up, Jason supposes he can’t blame the kid. Still, he’s not quite wrapping his head around this sweet, genuinely nice kid being buddies with Damian. The demon brat isn’t exactly known for his winning personality, and Jason only knows vaguely how the two of them met, but what he’s heard doesn’t strike him as being particularly conducive to forging the lasting bonds of friendship.

Curiosity gets the better of him, and he decides to just ask. “Why’d you call Damian, the night you found her?”

Colin looks surprised. “I...don’t know,” he says, slowly. “I didn’t know who else to call? Damian’s my best friend, and he always knows what to do.”

Jason can’t keep the skeptical look off his face.

“And if he doesn’t, Bat….Bruce, I mean, definitely always knows what to do.”

Jason scrubs a hand over his face. Time to change the fucking subject. “How’d you two get hooked up, anyways?”

Dani turns her head to look at him, still eating Colin’s zipper. Sometimes, Jason gets the bizarre feeling that she can somehow tell when he’s about to blow a gasket. It’s probably a coincidence - she moves around a lot, and Jason has anger issues that flare up every ten minutes, so there’s bound to be some crossover - but it works, because it takes the fight right out of him every time.

“We worked a case together,” Colin says, holding Dani a little more securely against him. “About a year ago, I guess. Kids were disappearing from my orphanage, and from the shelters. I don’t think you were around.”

“I wasn’t,” Jason shakes his head. He and Roy had been busting a trafficking ring in Ibiza, and it had taken Jason over a month to get all the major players. “I heard about it a little, from Dick.”

Dick hadn’t given him too many details at the time - Jason had chalked it up to him having a few other things on his mind, but as Colin fills in the gaps, he starts to suspect Dick just didn’t want him going on a rampage. Which he absolutely would have - he still wants to, God. God. All those poor kids, just a stone’s throw from his old neighborhood. And of course the police had done jack shit - Zsasz is practically Black Mask’s pet, he probably paid them off to look the other way, not that most of them need the excuse - and Bruce was gone, and Jason was gone, and Dick was in over his head, and - fuck, it should never have fallen to Damian and Colin.

He waits for the fury to subside a little, not trusting what will come out of his mouth. Dani hums around her fist, blinking at him, and it helps. “Jesus,” he says, finally. “This fucking town.”

Colin’s mouth twists a little. “Yeah. But you were Robin, right? You probably saw worse things.”

Did he? Jason doesn’t remember. He doubts it, though. He can’t imagine he would’ve been satisfied with Bruce’s way of dealing with it.

“I wouldn’t have pulled my stroke, when I was Robin,” he muses. “Probably why Bruce never gave me a sword.”

No, Jason would’ve bisected the fucker. It still has appeal, though he thinks he would lean towards his favorite Sig rifle if he was taking care of it today. Headshots for the henchmen - anyone who signs on to that kind of operation, even in the most menial capacity, doesn’t deserve to breathe. Kneecaps and crotch shots for the spectators, to make sure they couldn’t get away. Gut shots for the kid-wranglers. And Zsasz....it’s tempting to want to draw it out, but Jason can feel the desire leaving him the longer he thinks about it. His imaginative tortures fade into a simple headshot, and even that isn’t satisfying. Fuck. He just can’t seem to hold onto his rage lately, even when he wants to. It’s all being replaced by some kind of anxiety, some kind of tenderness that aches, burning deep into him every time Dani looks at him, or touches him. Every time he thinks of her. Every time he feels Dick watching him with her, all warmth and affection.

Colin bounces her a little, making her laugh. Jason feels his revenge fantasy slip away.

“What’re you reading her?” Colin nods to the book still laying open in Jason’s lap.

Jason looks at it. “Oh, Twelfth Night. Shakespeare,” he adds, recalling that Colin is eleven, and likely not perusing great literature in his free time. “Figure it’s never too early to start her on the classics.”

Colin grins. “That’s cool,” he says. “Does she like it?”

“Beats me,” Jason shrugs.

“Read some?”

Jason raises his eyebrows.

Colin flushes. “Um. I mean, if you want…”

He decides to humor him. What the hell. “Sure, why not. ‘O spirit of love! How quick and fresh art thou, that, notwithstanding in thy capacity, receiveth as the sea.’”

Dani yawns widely, relinquishing her fist in a long string of drool. Jason laughs, and so does Colin. “Maybe jumping the gun a little,” he admits. “I don’t really know what kids are into these days.”

“Me either,” Colin says. “I think she liked it, though. See, she’s just sleepy.”

Jason feels a lump forming in his throat, and swallows hard against it.

“What does it mean? The part you were reading,” Colin asks.

“Um.” Jason doesn’t really know, he’s not exactly a literary scholar, but he’s always liked to work Shakespeare out on his own, finding meaning in the wordplay and running the metaphors through his mind until they line up in a satisfactory way. He doesn’t know if his interpretation is correct, exactly, but: “So this Duke, a guy called Orsino, is saying that he doesn’t want to be in love anymore. He’s talking about love and how everyone thinks it’s this wonderful thing, but the truth is that it actually just makes people miserable.”

Jason pauses, feeling like he just showed way too much of his hand. “Basically, he’s just complaining,” he finishes, uneasy.

Glancing at Colin out of the corner of his eye, he’s relieved to see that he’s occupied with Dani, and not paying attention to Jason at all. Thank fuck. If it’d been anyone else in the house sitting there, he’d be in for some horrible armchair psychology session, and he’d have to book it out the window and not return for several months.

“I think she wants you,” Colin says, as Dani ramps up her fussing. Jason takes her gratefully, holds her to his chest as she rubs her eyes and grumbles her displeasure at being passed around.

“All right, I hear you,” Jason murmurs, gently tugging her fists away from her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, come on. It’s not so bad.” Like he’s one to talk.

And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, ever since pursue me, he thinks, rocking her tiny body into a comfortable position. Colin was only holding her for ten, maybe fifteen minutes, and Jason was sitting less than five feet away, but he missed her. God, what is happening to him?

“Damian didn’t want to bring her here, at first,” Colin says quietly. “But I think he’s glad that we did. He really likes her, you know.”

Jason doesn’t quite know how to feel about that. It’s sweet, on some level. And he’s well aware that Damian likes her, going by the amount of time he spends hovering in the hallway outside Jason’s room, not to mention the increasingly expensive toys that keep showing up among her things.

He looks down at her, dozing off. “Well, she’s pretty easy to like.”

Colin nods, looking pleased.

“Damian, on the other hand....”

Colin grins. “He’s not so bad.”

He’s really not. Like hell Jason will ever tell him that, though. “You have bizarre taste, kid.”

Colin blushes, hard, and Jason blinks. Well. That’s interesting, isn’t it? Or it will be, in a few years. He makes a note to ask Dick about it, later.

“Are you gonna adopt her?” Colin asks, bringing Jason’s amused thoughts to a screeching halt.

Automatically, he says, “No way.”

Colin looks wounded. “Why not?”

“Because I can’t,” Jason replies. “I’m the last person who should be a parent, trust me.”

“Doesn’t look that way to me.”

Doesn’t feel that way either - the thought floats up, unbidden, uninvited. He can’t. “She deserves better,” Jason says, heavily. “Even if….even I could handle it. She deserves better than this family.”

“But your family is - ”

“A death sentence.” He’s being harsh, but if Colin’s gonna be hanging around, he’ll find out for himself soon enough. “It’s fucking cursed, look. I couldn’t do that to any kid, especially her. You should get out too, while you still can.”

Colin looks angry, which surprises him. His hands are balled into fists, and Jason sees a tremor in them, a bulging that immediately sets off alarm bells in his head.

“Kid,” he says sharply. “Colin. If you’re gonna hulk out, take it outside. Alfred will have an honest-to-God stroke if you do it in here.”

A few deep breaths later, Colin looks normal again. “Sorry.” His voice is hoarse. “You’re wrong, though.”

Jason’s temper flares. “No offense, but I think I would know better than you,” he snaps. Dani grumbles sleepily in his arms, and he sighs out in frustration. “Trust me, okay? She’s better off. It never ends well, not in this family. I’m proof of that.”

But Colin shakes his head. “You don’t know,” he says. “My mom said the same thing, when she dropped me off at the orphanage. She gave the nuns a letter - she said I’d be better off with them than with her.”

Jason stills.

“It didn’t matter,” Colin continues. “Scarecrow still got me. Victor Zsasz still got me. Maybe they would have gotten me with her, too. Maybe I wouldn’t have been that much better off with her, but at least I would’ve been with her.” He sniffles, and Jason holds Dani a little tighter.

“I know she loved me.” His voice cracks. “I just wish...I wish I could’ve stayed with her. I wish she would have known that I never would’ve been better off away from her.”

He looks absolutely miserable, pitched forward and rubbing hard at his eyes. Jason is reminded painfully of how young Colin is, closer to Dani’s age than his own. He remembers being Colin’s age and younger, thinking the same thoughts about his own mother. How fiercely he’d guarded her, chased away the cops and the social workers, doing everything in his power not to be separated from her. Not that it mattered, in the end.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Colin, I’m sorry. For the record, I actually kind of get where you’re coming from.”

Colin looks up at him.

“Wish I didn’t, but. That’s life.”

“You should adopt her,” Colin says again, softly.

Jason shakes his head. “Colin…”

“You’ll think about it.”

He exhales. “Sure, I’ll think about it.” Like he’ll be able to think about anything else after this.

“She needs you,” Colin insists stubbornly.

Jason doesn’t reply. He knows on some level Colin is right - Dani does need him right now. She needs someone, at least, someone who can take care of her and protect her. Someone who isn’t afraid to shed blood to keep her safe. Jason doesn’t relish the thought, but he’s certain this won’t end tidily. Mob cases never do. It’ll be messy, and bloody, and Bruce will have a shit fit, and Dick probably will too, and Jason will go back to Crime Alley and Dani will get shipped off to Witness Protection or something, and damn, does that hurt to think about.

He looks over at Colin, still hunched over on himself, vulnerability written into every line of his posture. He’s desperately in need of a hug, or some kind of affection, validation, maybe. Or that’s just Jason projecting, who the fuck knows. If Dick was here, he would know exactly what to do for him. Jason’s at a loss, unable to separate his young self from the damaged kid sitting next to him.

He adjusts his hold on Dani carefully, laying her down flat along his arm, while he works out what to say. Finally, he settles on, “Damian’s lucky to have you.”

Colin sits up a little straighter. He looks like he’s waiting for more, but he’s shit out of luck, because Jason has no idea what else he needs to hear. No idea what he could say that wouldn’t be completely insincere, anyways. We can be your family, Colin. Like hell. Bruce has enough kids lined up waiting to die for him, he’s not about to encourage another one to be turned into cannon fodder for the man’s principles.

“Uh, yeah,” Jason says, after a moment. “That’s all I got.”

Colin smiles wanly. “Thanks, anyways.”

Jason snorts. “Sure.”

“Can I hug you?”

Jason stares. “Can you…what? Me?”

“I won’t if you don’t want me to,” Colin adds, averting his eyes.

Jason can’t even remember the last time someone hugged him. He thinks Roy might’ve, some eight or nine months ago, after they’d narrowly survived a warehouse explosion. Jason’s whole body had been ringing from the blast, so he doesn’t exactly remember the sensation of it. And before that…?

He imagines Dick’s reaction, if he was here. He’d be disappointed in Jason, that’s for sure. Really, Jay? You can’t hug a child? It’s a fair argument, he has to admit. Jason’s fucked up personal space issues don’t really apply to children, or babies, clearly. Colin’s obviously attention-starved, and Jason’s already holding one kid. What’s another, really.

“Okay,” he relents. “Hit me.”

There’s a shuffling motion next to him, and then Colin is hugging his free arm, leaning his head against Jason’s shoulder. Jason can’t quite contain his surprise - it’s weird, as expected, but it’s not dramatically increasing his desire to bolt through the nearest exit like he’d thought it would. It’s a little funny, actually. He’s pretty sure both Bruce and Damian would lose their shit if they could see him right now. Dick, too, most likely, but to his credit, it would be a happy kind of shit-losing. Damian would probably try to gut him.

Are there cameras in the library? Jason can’t remember. He kind of hopes there aren’t, because if anyone else sees this, he will absolutely never live it down.

***

(dick)

“Wait, I think that’s him.” Dick leans forward to peer at Tim’s screen. He points to the familiar looking figure. “That guy. Do you have a clearer shot?”

Tim skips a few photos ahead, and zooms in. “Him?”

“Yes. That’s the guy. Jason said he recognized him from your surveillance files. He was at the club the night we caught Susie Falcone.”

“The fourth night, was it?” Tim asks, innocently.

“Don’t be mean, Timmy.”

“Just clarifying,” Tim grins. Dick raises an eyebrow. “Okay, okay. I don’t have a ton of intel on this guy, he’s really slippery. According to my informant, he goes by Tiberius - some kind of mercenary, Greek or Albanian national. I doubt that’s his real name.”

Dick nods, studying the photographs. Tim continues, “He came over with Intergang as an enforcer, I think. Might’ve been Reynolds’ personal bodyguard.”

“Could explain how Reynolds got taken out,” Dick says thoughtfully. “He’s on the Falcones’ payroll now, but he’s not family. Might be an easy target.”

Tim opens his mouth, about to reply, when there’s a choked-off sound of fury from the Batcave below them.

“Was that Damian? He’s up already?” Dick asks, glancing down towards Bruce’s computer. He hops over the ramp to see what the fuss is about. Tim follows close behind.

“Everything okay?” Dick asks, approaching the wall of screens. There’s nothing that jumps out at him as being particularly alarming; Bruce is looking at DNA analyses, and Damian is looking at the Manor surveillance, tapping furiously at his ear.

“Todd!” he hisses. “What do you think you’re doing? Colin is my friend!”

“Robin,” Oracle’s voice comes through the speaker. “No names on the comms. And Hood isn’t wearing his earpiece, so you’ll have to tell him in person.” She sounds amused. “Oracle out.”

Damian swears.

“Holy shit,” Tim says faintly. “Look at them.”

The screen that all the Manor surveillance feeds run to is showing just one room - the library, of all places, but Dick vaguely recalls it being some kind of sanctuary to Jason, years and years ago. It makes sense that he’d end up back there, and it makes sense that he’d have Dani with him. What Dick doesn’t expect to see is little Colin Wilkes, all five feet and change of him, snuggled up to Jason’s side and hugging him, wrapped around his arm like a gangly koala. Dick can’t help but notice that Jason’s bicep is about as big around as Colin’s head, which is certainly...something. He’s not quite ready to classify how he feels about that, so he refocuses on the hug itself, which is nothing short of charming.

Damian grinds his teeth audibly. “It’s still going.”

“Oh, man.” Dick can’t help the grin he feels creeping up the sides of his face. “Bruce, are you seeing this?”

“I am,” Bruce says, stiffly. He looks like he’s in pain. Dick fights the urge to roll his eyes.

“What’s wrong with you? Look how sweet they are!” he exclaims, gesturing. It’s adorable.

“It is not sweet,” Damian snarls, whirling on him. “Todd is a corruptive influence, and Colin is young and impressionable! Where is your concern for him?”

Tim coughs, and it sounds a little bit like “jealous”. Surprisingly, this does not diffuse Damian’s indignation.

“I don’t get it,” Dick says, stepping between them quickly to block Damian’s spinning kick. “I thought you and Jason were fine, Damian. You’ve been spending enough time in our - in his room lately. Where’s this coming from?”

“Incredibly, I don’t feel as concerned about Todd recruiting an infant onto the path of lawlessness,” Damian retorts. “Colin lacks paternal guidance in his life, as you know. Todd clearly senses it.”

“Jason is very paternal these days,” Tim agrees.

“I’m pretty sure it’s just a hug,” Dick says in exasperation. “No one’s recruiting anyone, Damian. And look, it’s over. Your friend is just a hugger, that’s all.”

“I must agree with Master Richard,” Alfred says from behind them. “Having been the recipient of many such embraces from young Master Colin myself.”

“See? I’ve gotten hugs from him too,” Dick tells Damian. “And I know you have, so don’t bother denying it. He’s probably gearing up the courage to get one from Bruce one of these days.”

Bruce looks slightly alarmed by the prospect. “He is?”

Damian looks conflicted. “He is?”

Dick casts his eyes heavenward. “Colin, I’m so sorry.”

Before he can say anything else, the Cave door opens below them, and Duke’s bike comes shooting in, whipping around into its parking spot in a move that would send Dick flying over the handlebars. Bruce takes about half a second to look impressed, and then clears the main screen to pull up their intel on the Falcone case.

“What’s up, guys,” Duke calls, pulling off his helmet and jogging up the steps. “I’ve got news. Where’s Jason?”

“Being hugged, in the library,” Dick tells him. “You just missed it.”

Duke looks nonplussed. “Damn. Wait, that’s not some kind of weird euphemism, is it? If it is, I don’t want to know.”

“It most certainly is not,” Damian says venomously.

“Cool. I tried to get him on the comm, but he didn’t respond. Should I go get him? He’ll want to hear this.”

“Damian will get him,” Bruce says.

Damian is…already on the elevator. Dick spares a thought for Jason. At least he’s holding Dani, so Damian won’t attack him outright.

“Your news?” Bruce prompts.

“Right,” Duke nods. “I’ve been all over City Hall records, and spent yesterday afternoon getting intel in the East End. I’ve got names and faces of most of the major players in this. They’re trying hard to front some distant nephew of Carmine Falcone as the head of the whole operation, but it wasn’t quite adding up. You said the new Falcone boss is a woman, right?” he asks Tim.

Tim nods affirmatively.

Duke looks triumphant. “Then I know who she is.”

***

[47-shades-of-hitman]

In Your Likeness | Chapter 2 - You seem familiar

Four weeks later

 The white noise of the lights around buzzed in your ears.

Sebastian walked up to you, cup of tea in hand.

“Here.” he said, placing it onto the table, the teaspoon resting in it rattling at the movement.

You sighed, leaning back, putting down the small pieces of equipment you were holding. Instead, you wrapped your arms around the hot mug, relishing in the sweet smell that came from the herbal beverage. You never took your tea with sugar, but opted to not tell him.

“Thank you.” you mused, smiling at him whilst bringing the cup up to blow into it, cooling it down just slightly. “Where would I be without you?”

Sebastian scratched his beard and smiled. “Well, for beginners, you wouldn’t be in sunny Jerusalem if it weren’t for my lead on a Piece of Eden.”

“That’s my lead, too!” sounded from the other side of the room, followed by a crumpled piece of paper being thrown at Seb’s head.

“Oi! Yeah, I get it, Miranda.”

“Sunny Jerusalem, you say?” you countered playfully, bending over your work again. “Then tell me, why are we hidden several floors underground instead of floating on the Dead Sea? I could’ve stayed in Tel Aviv to do more research there.”

Sebastian perched himself on top of the table you were working on, taking a swig of his coffee.

“Oh, come on (Y/n). You love Jerusalem. No-one who knows the city as well as you do. You’re only glad to be back.”

A large grin spread over your face, knowing he was right.

“(Y/n), take a look at this.” Miranda appeared at your side, handing you a yellowed folder.

“What’s this?”

“Information about your new target. Azra El-Sharani. A dangerous woman, mind you. She might seem harmless, but according to our spies, she killed her own husband. Templar ties? No doubt.”

You whistled through your teeth, flipping through the papers Miranda had so carefully compiled.

“I like a challenge from time to time.”

“This is not a game. Especially not here, on this soil. It’s drenched with blood of all kinds. Let’s not add too much to that, please.”

You tipped your chair back so you were leaning on its hind legs, balancing it just right.

“I know, Miranda.” you said. “I know this place like the back of my hand, but I know when to  not  strike. Thing is, if I don’t remind myself to have fun every once in a while, I might slip into madness. It’s not only what  makes  me the best at what I do – it  keeps  me that way, as well.”

Miranda nodded, her blonde curls bouncing at the movement of her head.

“Naturally. On with it.”

“Of course.” you replied. “I will let you know when I leave.”

As she walked off, the heels of her pumps clicking almost obnoxiously against the floor of the bunker, you leaned forward again, returning to your work. The acetone was sharp in its scent and stung in your nose, yet had evaporated in the time you had left it to dry. With practised ease, you re-assembled your bracer, clicking the blade back into place.

“You need to eat before you go.”

“Do I?” you asked your friend. “I believe I just had tea. With sugar, even though I never really take that in my hot drinks. That should give me enough energy for the rest of the day.”

Sebastian hopped off the table and followed you suit when you stood and made your way over to the exit. Grabbing your coat, you threw it over your shoulders. Despite it being your summer garment, it was immediately sticky against your bare skin.

“(Y/n), I am being serious. We can’t have you faint on us.”

“Being peckish keeps me sharp, Seb.” you explained, putting on the bracer. From the chest underneath the mirror hanging on the wall you took another gauntlet, this one equipped with built-in tranquilizer darts, which you could use should the need arise. You wished you had it on you on your previous contract the other day  – that rival hitman, of whom you didn’t know the name. 

He had crossed your mind more than once this month.

You shuddered, but you weren’t sure if it was because of the aversion you felt towards the ICA or the vivid memory of his  impossibly blue eyes.

“Are you sure you’ve read the file well enough? We could go through it together while enjoying some sandwiches? I could get you some falafel, too? Or something sweet… Babka?” Sebastian tried.

You sighed, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

“Time is of the essence and there is no way that I can wait any longer. Jerusalem is waiting to be rid of her Templars. My absence has made the lower ranks lazy.”

Sebastian let his shoulders hang, knowing that there was no use in pressuring you any further.

“Alright.” he said, “Enjoy your surroundings. Many people would be jealous of you, regarding your whereabouts, I mean.”

You laughed a little at the IT-manager. “Oh, Sebastian. No one should be jealous of me in any regard. Anyway, isn’t your break over already?”

Sebastian checked his watch, hiding the expression of shock on his face. “Shit, I’m five minutes late. Never mind, I’m the manager after all. Good luck on your endeavours, now.”

You nodded and folded your hands on your back, watching him trot away, a certain spring in his step he always had whenever he was late.

Before you left the premises of your quarters, you dropped by Miranda, just as she had asked of you. However, when you turned the corner, you ran straight into her, almost colliding against her shocked face.

“Oh, (Y/n)! You startled me!” she breathed. “I was just about to get you, really. I just got a call from the Council’s office. They want you upstairs.”

“Why? What is going on, have they told you? I was about to leave for that file, actually, I—”

“I’m not sure, but the Eldest of Council told me that you needed to meet with him right away.”

“Mr Howard?” you countered, feeling your stomach tighten. He was the highest ranking member of the Council, making you immediately nervous.

“Yes.” Miranda sighed, seemingly just as scared. If Mr Howard called for you, it couldn’t be good.

“Thank you for letting me know.”

You rushed away, pushing through the doors after straightening the lapels of your coat in the mirror. Walking up a few flights of stairs to where the Israeli Council had their headquarters underneath Jerusalem, your mind started to run.

Was it something you had said, or did you take breaks that were too long? No, if that had been the case, you wouldn’t be called into office. After all, you were the best Assassin they had and the most hard-working one at that. If you took a break that was ten minutes longer than planned, it—

You halted mid-step, standing still for a moment as realisation hit you. The agent from the ICA you had run into a few weeks back… Mentally cursing, you rubbed your forehead in frustration, resuming your walk to the main office, though with a heart that was even heavier. They must’ve found out that there were rivals on their turf. Took them a long while, too. Perhaps you should’ve reported it, but you hadn’t regarded it as a threat.

Oh, you were going to get the lecture of the century. On why you should’ve killed that hitman instead of letting him walk out, or at least how you should’ve neutralised him. About how he had probably now killed someone prominent within the Creed and that it could’ve been prevented if you had ended him. Perhaps you’d be banished for negligence or charged with the guilt of a fallen brother- or sister-Assassin.

Your knuckles rapped on the metal door in front of you and you took a deep breath. A Master Assassin felt no fear when it came to scaling buildings, killing people in high places, taking  Leaps of Faith. .. And yet, you were about to shit yourself because you had to speak with your superiors.

“Enter.” sounded the way-too-familiar voice of Thomas Howard, Eldest of Council and thus, the highest power when it came to the Brotherhood of Assassins. And so you went, closing the door behind you after slipping through the tiny gap you had created by pushing it open.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” you were surprised at how confident your voice sounded.

“Yes, Miss (L/n). You may approach.”

The walls were covered in photographs of places, people and objects, red thread lined through here and there, revealing the on-going development of plans. You halted at the front of Mr Howard’s oaken desk, folding your hands on your back.

The middle-aged man looked at you thoughtfully.

“Miss (L/n)… You’ve been our best Master Assassin ever since your brother died. Is that correct?”

“Affirmative, sir.” you replied, swallowing away the lump in your throat at the mention of your deceased brother. “For five years now, sir.”

“Time and time again, you’ve proven loyalty to the Creed. I would trust you with the Brotherhood’s most secret investigations concerning Pieces of Eden and the extermination of Templar forces.”

You bowed your head humbly. “Thank you, sir. I’m honoured to hear that, sir.”

“Now.” he said, standing up, his robes swaying at the movement. “I need you to follow me.”

Why the secrecy, you wanted to ask, but opted to bite your tongue instead. It would be too rude a question, especially to the Eldest.

And so you went after him in silence, the only sound the beat of your footsteps.

“I will explain in further detail later, but we’ve picked up on a lead that runs deeper in importance than just exterminating the Templar Order. No, what we found will shake the world. You’re my most capable Assassin, so I need you on board.”

You nodded. “Sir, I’ve sworn fifteen years ago that I would do my all for the Brotherhood, that I would give my life and my dignity if it meant to serve it,” you paused before adding “...Sir.”

Mr Howard hummed in response. “I don’t think you’re going to like this, though.”

“Sir?” you asked, but he didn’t reply anymore.

“How about my other mission, sir?”

“I’ve placed Bethany on it. She’ll handle it just fine.”

“But Bethany is just a novice, sir. She won’t be able to—”

“I need you here.” Mr Howard said, displeased with your prying, and the tone of his scolding voice made you immediately cast your eyes downward.

“I apologise for my nosiness, sir.”

“Alright.” he said, and swiped a key-card to open a large, thick door.

The room was near empty, an ominous hue omitted by fluorescent light, a large table littered with files and documents in the middle. A few members from the High Council stood around, but an unfamiliar woman had her eyes on you. You locked her gaze to yours and raised an eyebrow.

Who was she?

“Here at last, Thomas.” an older lady you knew well stated, clearly unhappy with his late arrival. Siobhan Vermont glared at the two of you with narrowed eyes.

“I apologise, Mrs Vermont. The most important thing is that we’re here now, and I guess there are a lot of questions.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but someone cut you off before you could even start.

“You withheld information from us, (Y/n). You forgot to mention a rival assassin roaming the streets of Jerusalem. Someone of your ability should notice a thing like that right away.”

Casting your gaze downward, quite ashamed. “I apologise, sir. I should’ve reported it, but I threatened—”

“We already knew of their presence.” Mr Howard said. “There is no harm done, yet keep it in mind next time something like that happens.”

Your head whipped up to him and you frowned in confusion.

“I don’t understand, sir.”

Mr Howard walked to the strange woman and whispered something to her. She nodded and went to the adjacent room silently.

“This is a mission we hoped we never had to plan, but the situation forced us into cooperation with people who have ties to the ICA. Something big is going to happen, something that will make the entire world shudder, something that will make the eradication of our own, current enemies seem insignificant.”

Mr. Howard ushered you to the middle of the room, to the table, and on the other side of it, someone was being led forward as well.

When you halted and looked up, resting your hands on the files underneath you. In front of you, mimicking your position, he stood. 

Icy blue eyes met yours, something in his gaze stirring.

“We meet again.” he dryly stated.

You sighed, feeling puzzled, then, your gaze hardening.

“So it would seem.”

[dorevenge]

where ignorance is bliss - chapter 1

SUMMARY:  Maria Collins Carbonell is a young woman in a man's world, fresh out of college and ready to take on the '60s with Obadiah Stane on her arm, until she meets an older and mysterious Howard Stark - who's on his way to change the world, and he wants to take her with him. [AO3 LINK] Rated Teen

CHAPTERS: [1] 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 ☆

PAIRINGS: Maria/Howard, Maria/Obadiah, Peggy/Daniel, Edwin/Ana, Carol/Maria

… Where ignorance is bliss,

 Tis folly to be wise

 – Thomas Gray, 1742

If you ever met Howard Stark, you only knew half of the man.

He was lauded as a genius, a gamechanger in every field, a philanthropist for tomorrow, the best of humankind – yet he managed to be the worst of it at the same time.

I met him at a casino in ‘60, charmed and overpowered after losing millions for the thrill of it, and we married shortly after. It was the beginning of the last twenty years of my life.

 September 17, 1959 – Queens, New York City

“Obie, dear, we’re going to be late.”

“Darling, it’s check in four. Entertain me for just a few more minutes.”

“Chess minutes are longer than normal minutes, and being late in normal minutes makes Giulietta mad.” My eyes flash across the board, and the moves come to me. Hovering my fingers above the pieces, “I move my rook here, you’ll be forced to move this pawn, then my bishop here… Check in two, love, let’s go.”

I check in the mirror that every blonde hair is where it’s meant to be and adjust the pearls around my neck. Obadiah always wanted me to look good – not too good that other men would chase me, but enough that they would look at him because he was standing next to me. “They’ll look at the beautiful dame, then the businessman who’s arm she’s on, then ask to invest in his company just for a chance to be near her longer.” I wasn’t convinced that his plan worked.

Obadiah and I have been together for seven months at this point, long enough to grow tired of his perpetual tardiness, but not long enough for us to be seen leaving the same hotel room together. We slept in separate beds last night, of course; Obie is a man of high morals but tight checkbooks.

Purse hanging from the crook of my elbow, I call out over my shoulder, “I’ll meet you downstairs.” He hums in response, still curled over the chessboard trying to figure out where he went wrong. I close the door behind me.

-

“Fancy seeing you here,” Obie says, coming in from the elevator, fiddling with the cufflinks he bought just for the occasion – more than he could afford, he’ll probably return them at the end of the trip – the light from the chandelier above reflecting on his scalp. We leave the lobby to wait outside.

“Stop fretting. Your presentation will be flawless.” I straighten his tie as the taxi slides to a stop outside the hotel doors.

“I don’t want to let Howard down. Everything is riding on this.”

“I know, Obie, I know.”

-

I talk with the wives of the other businessmen in a corner, while they over-sip on over-sweet drinks. Obie didn’t send me to spy, but it’s hard not to notice when their loose lips spill secrets not meant to leave the boardroom, and surprises meant to wait for the expo. The first day of the event was reserved for socialization, for inventors and investors to shake hands, tease each other about what they might be presenting and prod for any information they can get. The women are undermined, seen and not heard, but always listening. Always listening.

This was my second Stark Expo; last year I attended as an intern at the Future Foundation, frequently dismissed as a secretary or spouse before I got the chance to share that I was about to graduate from Columbia Business School with Honors. I was put into a box before I opened my mouth. The fifties are a terrible time to be a smart woman.

Tired of the gossiping, tipsy wives, I leave to find Obie. He was almost always easy to find, taller and broader than most of the scholars who have never known a hard day of work in their life, and his bald head shines like a lighthouse. Unsuccessful, I wander off alone.

A waiter hands me a martini, and I find myself in front of the exhibit dedicated to Captain Steve Rogers. It was the same every year; there’s no new information about the man since he crash-landed in the Atlantic, but the fanfare and mythos around him has only increased. The shield and empty suit sat behind a wall of thick glass, carefully preserved by the curator, who was a close friend of the Captain. Several pictures of him decorate the exhibit. Tall, blonde, steel blue eyes. He was handsome, with wide shoulders and an even wider jaw. The perfect American specimen.

I stand in front of the suit, the reflection of my head barely coming up to its sternum, imagining how differently the war might have ended had he survived. A silhouette joins from my right and makes me jump, my senses a little dulled from the drink. I turn around.

“Peggy!”

The brunette Englishwoman takes me in her arms, and I breathe in her perfume. I had met her at last year’s expo when she tried to convince me to learn some self-defense, promising it wouldn’t make me too muscular and unfeminine.

We let each other go, and I notice her cast a sad glance at the exhibit before looking back to me. “Maria, how are you? Are you still working for the Future Foundation?” She looks perfect, as always, with her signature red lipstick.

“I’m well. I graduated from the internship and am working elsewhere. I’m here with a man.” Her eyes widen curiously as I continued. “He’s presenting an invention on Saturday.”

“Is it serious?”

“It’s… Comfortable.”

“If you need some excitement, my offer from last year still stands,” she offers. I smile at her politely, looking down at my shoes. I don’t think I was meant to be a secret agent.

“Maria, there you are! I have someone I want you to meet.” Obadiah blunders into the exhibit, a drink in his hand, and it is clearly not his first. He places a large hand on my shoulder and turns around to point back into the party. “Oh, I don’t know where he went. Howard was just here.”

“He’s probably off in a corner with some blonde,” Peggy smiles. “I need to speak with him, I’ll send him your way once I find him.”

She leaves, and once she’s out of eyesight, Obie’s hand slips from my shoulder to my waist. The forwardness brings me out of the martini-induced hazed, and I stand straight up. I move his hand for him.

“Sorry, Mar,” his breath reeking of alcohol, releasing me. “I’ll find something to eat, get something to soak it all up. I’ll need to stay sharp tonight.” He kisses me on the cheek, and I’m alone again, the swell of music and murmur of guests in the background.

-

Obadiah’s presentation went smoothly, but not as fantastical as he had hoped. The inventor before him showed something very similar, and the crowd was unenthusiastic and less receptive. Some investors bit at the bait, handshakes and promises were exchanged – but no money, which is what Obie desperately needs to continue this charade of a rich man. He came from very little, but he is very good at multiplying anything that crosses his path, a paradigm of the American legend. I do not know much of Obie’s past, but I do know it is grim enough to make him cry in his sleep some nights. Maybe I should invest in gasoline, he would ponder, or some new kind of energy. I need to create a legacy.

His legacy. We talked more of his legacy than anything else, more than chess moves or what to have for dinner or even the weather. His legacy. And he was positive his legacy would start with the two of us, flowing from our descendants, a watershed to admire for decades to come. While he hasn’t asked my father for my hand, he has dropped more than enough hints about his intentions, and I dodge every one of them best I can. He was 29 – six years older than me – and it was time he started a family by society’s expectations. I just wasn’t sure I that wanted to participate.

He lives in a tiny apartment in the Bronx – an apartment, not a house – and invests every penny he earns back into his machines. My father, a realtor, tried to convince him into investing into some real estate in the Upper East Side, but Obadiah gently refused his help, believing the only way to make in this world is to make it on your own.

I am asleep by the time he returns from the second day of the expo, and his entrance wakes me in a start. I had retired early, not wishing to entertain the drunken wives any longer.

“That bastard,” Obie trails off, locking the hotel door behind him and setting the key on the dresser. He sits on the second bed in the room and collapses into a sunken posture, his head falling heavily into his hands.

I slip out from under my covers and sit next to him. I run my hand up and down his back, trying to bring comfort to the defeated man. He would never tell me what had occurred that day, no matter how many times or ways I tried to ask, only the aftermath and resentment that followed, and it is my duty to pick up the pieces.

“God strike me down if I ever willingly enter business with a Stark,” he finally sighs into his hands. “That man is the worst of them all, a piranha and a coward. I told him my next great idea, and not five minutes later I hear him pitching it to an adoring crowd like it was his own. The rich get richer, and I’m still at the bottom. Hold me to it, Mar, if I ever shake his hand, it better be when I’m buying his company out from under him.”

“Yes, dear.”

[exauhstedsunflower]

Screams Of The Quiet

Tw:death (childbed fever guys), reference to the Thomas and Elizabeth thing, reference to beheading

Catherine Parr went out of the world screaming.

She screamed in pain, agony. She screamed as she fought through pushing her child into the world. She screamed in defiance to the universe as she felt herself slipping away. She made the world hear her, ‘I am not leaving my child! Not with him, not in this world.’. Her screams haunted the people in the room for the rest of their lives, one of the loudest, most haunting noises ever heard.

‘I am not done yet. There is so much left for me here.’ The screams of a queen, of one of the strongest women you could know. In endless pain, all she could think about was her Mary and how much left she has to do. Screw Thomas, screw her title as dowager queen of England and Ireland. Screw life, for being so unfair. She needs to make amends with the Tudor children. She needs to help shape the new era of their country; someone has to, someone that actually cares about those kids.

She needs to raise her daughter.

Catherine has so many ideas for her daughter, so many things she wants to teach her. She needs to protect her, now knowing what an awful man her father really is. She can’t leave her here with him. She thinks of her mother, Maud Green, who raised her as a single woman and taught many children. The woman who taught the great Catherine Parr to survive. She learned so much from her mother. So much she wants to pass on to Mae, and yet she feels herself barely holding on, getting louder with each scream in a desperate attempt at staying alive though pure force of will.

She’s gotten so much quieter the older she gets, it's a shock to hear her like this as she goes. Growing up she was loud, if the world wanted to drown her out she’d scream over the masses to be heard. She kept that up well into her adult years. Then she got kidnapped for being too outspoken in her beliefs, along with her stepchildren. She was more careful after that. And then, with Henry, she worked so hard to keep him happy with her. But her outspoken and argumentative nature got the best of her again. She was almost killed, and kept her opinions close to her heart after that.

Marrying Thomas had been like being set free, until it wasn’t. She was fooled into it, fooled into thinking he was a good and loving man. He got angry with her too. Never threatening to kill her, but angry enough to scare her. Angry enough to scare Elizabeth too, he hurt that girl. Catherine will never forgive herself for being too afraid to do something, to say something. When did she become too afraid to speak? Perhaps that's why she loves writing so much, the ability to not speak and upset someone close enough to hurt her. A cowards hobby, but protection from her husband nonetheless.

She’s been quieter, still outspoken, but more careful. And now, with the ferocity she’s been suppressing, she screams and yells every thought that comes to her mind. ‘I am not done. There is so much left. I hate you.’ That last one is directed at Thomas, who looks all too shocked to hear it as he holds her hand. She’s squeezing it too hard for him to let go though, from pain or fear or out of anger neither will ever know. ‘I need to see my baby. I need to see her.’ This is his fault. He’d gotten her pregnant, after trying for one in four different marriages this is the man that gave her a baby. She has no ill will against the child, no, never that. But she’s dying and it’s not Mae’s fault, it’s Thomas’s.

With one last scream, the loudest yet, she gives birth to a baby girl. They attempt to give her to Thomas and she growls that they’d better not. They hand her the baby instead. Her baby. She died for this, or is dying, she knows, she wants to hold her.

Mae is a beautiful mess. She’s fairly heavy for a newborn, and looks a lot like Catherine herself. Like Catherine, she’s also covered in her mother's blood, and she’s screaming too. The similarity is jarring, because one has just been given life, and the other is about to pass away.

She feels herself slipping away, as her eyes close she hears Mae and Thomas crying for her. The last thing she feels is someone taking her baby from her hold. The last thing she thinks and says is ‘I love you.’ She cannot tell if it was meant for just her daughter or for them both. No time to dwell on it as she drifts away, though. Finally, finally silent.

2

When Catherine wakes up, she’s alone. Taking a moment to get her bearings, she realizes a few things. One, there is no more agonizing pain. Two, this room looks to be a bedroom, but she doesn’t recognize quite the items scattered around it. And three, there’s no sounds of a child anywhere near her.

She must be in heaven. She certainly died, and this place is strange enough to make her look around in wonder. She stands to walk to the door, maybe she can find an angel to explain. Maybe she can watch over Mae and the other children from here. As she walks towards the door though, a blinding pain shoots through her head.

Ah, so the pain is not over then.

When she emerges from the sensation she notices she’s fallen onto the floor. And that she has some new knowledge of where she is. She is in the future, not in heaven. She’s been reincarnated, and the world has vastly changed. There are still some missing bits, she hopes she has the opportunity to learn them herself if knowledge is given through painful means in this century. She sits up from her spot on the floor with a quiet grunt. The pain has completely subsided now, hopefully it stays gone.

Her door opens and she fights the urge to scream in fright. She looks at the person who walked in. Truthfully they look a bit frantic themselves, so Catherine doubts that they’ll be of any real help.

“You must be Cathy Parr then! We’ve been waiting for days!”

Catherine just looks at this woman. She can’t bring herself to speak. She’s always known just what to say in dangerous situations, but then she’d known who she was dealing with. Speaking up now when she has no idea who’s listening is risky. She doesn't trust herself to say the right thing. She doesn’t trust the woman who seems to know who she is.

The silence seems to be off putting to her visitor, who attempts to fill it.

“Right, so I know this is probably kind of scary. You’ve been reincarnated, new body and everything-“

New body? She immediately looks down to her hands, noticing that they are completely different now. How is it that she has the same consciousness and not the same body? Who’s body is this? Where did it come from?

“-My name is Katherine Howard, the others call me Kitty because there’s too many Catherine’s. You make the third, we’ve been calling you Cathy. I hope you’re okay with that.”

Catherine eyes her warily, still sitting on the floor. Katherine Howard. She knew her. She glances down at ‘Kitty’s’ neck, noting the scarf. She wonders what’s under there.

Noticing that the girl is looking at her clearly wanting an answer, Catherine nods. She has more pressing matters to worry over than a nickname. Why she’s alive being one of them. Why Katherine Howard, who she saw beheaded with her own eye, is alive being another.

“Good! I was the last one to wake up. It seems to have gone in order of marriage. You’re the last one, and your room is right next to mine. The others don’t know you’re here yet, I heard you fall and wanted to check first.”

It seems to have gone in order of marriage. She mulls over the word in her mind. This means that the ‘others’ mentioned must be all of Henry’s wives, given Katherine Howard was right before her.

“Would you like to meet the others?”

She wonders what would happen if she said no. Would Kitty be prepared for that answer? Would she just leave her here or would she try to convince her otherwise? She’s tempted to say no just to see what would happen, she might have if she didn’t think her guilt over messing with the girl would be overwhelming. She nods in response.

“Okay, do you need help getting up?”

Oh, right. She’s still on the floor. With a shake of her head she stands, gesturing to her now upright body with a small smile. Kitty laughs a bit at the gesture and tilts her head in the direction of the hall behind her.

“Let's go then!” She seems cheerful. Not at all like someone who had her head chopped off.

As they make their way down the hall Catherine trails a bit behind, observing every little thing. She gets a glimpse into the room next to hers, which she knows is Kitty’s. A lot of pink. She’d hazard a guess and say Kitty’s favorite color is pink. The hall walls are kind of plain, a nice light grey throughout. There are seven doors, all the same brown color except for one, which is a lighter brown than the others. She taps Kitty on the shoulder and gestures to the door, looking at it questioningly.

“Oh, that’s the bathroom.” Kitty goes and opens the door, showing her the strange room. As soon as Catherine lays eyes on the strange objects inside, she feels a white-hot pain. Kitty catches her on the way down, and when she finally comes back to her mind, she knows what that room is for. She groans in frustration from the fact that this pain seems to come with knowledge.

“Yeah, that happens whenever we find something new. It’s honestly kind of annoying. I’ve only been here for a few weeks, so it happens from time to time.”

That sounds like a promise that this pain will pop up again, and though it comes with information, it is not welcome. They go down a flight of stairs, and into a room her mind calls the living room. Odd, though fitting. There are several sofas and chairs in the room. It seems to be an area for comfort. There is a fireplace and several tables, and a few lamps, which are fascinating.

“Holy shit!”

Oh, and people. This room is filled with people, too.

“Anne, mind your tongue, will you?” Another woman scolds from her chair.

‘Anne’ opens her mouth to retort, but Kitty intervenes.

“Now is not the time! Everyone, this is Cathy. Cathy, everyone.”

They all stare at her expectantly, although she’s not sure what they could possibly be expecting from her. Looking around the room, all she can manage is a wave.

“She doesn’t talk much. But that’s okay, I think I explained things pretty well.”

Yes, and also no. The only reason Catherine has any idea what’s happening is from her newfound pain-knowledge and picking up on things Kitty has said and inferring what they mean. But she looks quite excited to have been the one to greet her, so Catherine nods at her with a warm smile, getting the girl to beam.

“Alright, I’m Anne von Cleve, you knew me before. I go by Anna now since there is another Anne. Makes things easier.”

Anna, right. Catherine did know her. They were certainly not friends, but it’s nice to see a familiar face. They’ll deal with any past tensions later.

“I’m the other Anne. Anne Boleyn.” The woman who said ‘holy shit’ when Catherine arrived jumps into the conversation not even a moment later. She knows Anne Boleyn, knew her child. She’s unable to fully look Anne in the eye.

“I’m Jane Seymour, are you feeling alright?”

Jane died the same way Catherine did. She knows the pain that her death brought. And she brought about Edward, the sweetest little boy she’d ever met. Though she’s unsure why Jane might be enquiring into her wellbeing while hardly even knowing her, so she just nods again.

“Good, coming back from the dead is a bit jarring.”

She nods rapidly at that. It is jarring. One moment she was dying a slow and agonizing death, then she died. And then the next she wakes up, just, not dead anymore. The shock of dying hasn’t worn off yet. When it does Catherine hopes to God she’s alone to deal with it.

“Catherine of Aragon.” The woman in the armchair introduces herself.

Catherine of Aragon. She’s Catherine’s godmother, her namesake.

“You may call me Catalina. I’m glad you made it to us okay.” The kindness and surety in the words makes everything she’s heard of the woman ring true. Catherine of Aragon, the true queen. Catherine had tried to emulate her in her reign.

“Are you hungry?” Kitty asks. And Catherine realizes that yes, she is quite hungry. Her stomach makes a noise in place of her mouth, causing everyone to laugh.

“It’s nearly dinner anyway. Reincarnation makes a person hungry.” Anna says that last bit as a joke. But it seems to be true, she wasn’t very hungry when she died. Though maybe she was in too much pain to notice. Or maybe this body hasn’t eaten? Who’s body even is this?

Before she can allow herself into an existential spiral, Jane beckons her into another room. The kitchen, her brain supplies. It looks nothing like a kitchen she would see in her last life. She very carefully examines the various items in the room, wary of any influx of painful knowledge. It comes when she looks at the stove. Falling in front of everyone is a bit embarrassing, but they all seem to get it. Anna catches her this time, and leads her to a chair to rest. Once the pain subsides, she knows what all the appliances in the room do.

Interesting.

“Those are annoying, I’m surprised you didn’t scream. Anna always screams.” Anne says once Catherine’s eyes have cleared of pain and confusion. 

Anna defends herself, “Not everyone had a super painful death, Anne. I was just really tired when I died.”

Anne rolls her eyes goodnaturedly, and then directs a question towards Catherine, one that is not yes or no answerable. Also, quite insensitive in topic.

“Okay, okay! Well, how did you die, Cathy?”

Anne talks a lot, it makes sense this was her main offense against Henry. Though Catherine shouldn’t judge, she talked a lot too.

Anna speaks up for her, telling them childbirth. Then she tells Anne to be more sensitive, not everyone talks about their deaths freely. Jane looks very sympathetic. She would be, she’d died in a similar fashion.

The conversation continues around her and eventually she is handed a plate of food. She should thank Catalina for it, it’d be incredibly rude not to. It’s already bad enough she hasn’t said a word yet. As they sit, Catherine Parr opens her mouth for the first time in this life to speak.

And nothing comes out.

The others don’t seem to judge her, though. There’s a ball of anxiety in her chest and the feeling reverberates through her whole body. That’s never happened before, and she silently makes a decision that she’s going to have to work on speaking.

Catalina smiles at her warmly, like she knows what Catherine was trying to say. Then they all continue their conversation, making sure to include her as much as possible while she tries and fails to convince herself to speak up.

This is strange. Just a moment ago (Years ago? When are they, exactly?) she’d been screaming. Now she can’t seem to make a noise. This life will be spent in silence, so it seems.

[shalebridge-cradle]

Historical References in What Are You Going to Do With Your Life - Chapters 10-12

Chapter 10

Boleyn mumbles something about a priest. W. S. Pakenham-Walsh (1868 - 1960), Vicar of Sulgrave, Northhamptonshire, had a strong interest in Anne Boleyn. He claimed to have a series of spiritual experiences after praying at Boleyn’s burial site, and contacted clairvoyants to channel her spirit in the hopes she might become his guardian angel. He also claimed in his diary that he had contact with Henry VIII and other notable members of the Tudor court.

While witchcraft was often punished via the death penalty, Henry VIII made the law explicit in 1542 (though it was later repealed no later than 1547, under Edward VI). Several witchcraft laws were made in the UK over the years, in 1563, 1604, 1649 and 1735. These were all repealed and replaced with more general consumer protection laws, and the last person to be indicted for witchcraft (under the 1735 act) was imprisoned in 1944.

Tarot was a regular set of cards for most of its history, used in various, but similar, trick-taking card card games. It became associated with ancient wisdom in 1781, when Antoine Court de Gébelin wrote an essay claiming (with no evidence) that ancient Egyptian priests had distilled the mystical Book of Thoth into the cards.

“Psychic is Greek, and clairvoyant is French. One is about thinking, and the other is about seeing.” Psychic comes from the Greek word psychikos (‘of the mind’) and clairvoyance is a combination of two French words (‘clear’ and ‘vision’). Catherine of Aragon was known to speak both French and Greek, as well as Latin, her native Spanish, and English.

Cunning man (or woman) was another word for folk healers.

In 1532, Catherine Parr’s brother-in-law from her second marriage, William Neville, was accused of treason for allegedly predicting the king’s death and his own ascension as Earl of Warwick (a title made extinct during the Wars of the Roses, but would be recreated in 1547 and twice after that). He went to at least three magicians to confirm this prediction, all of which agreed that it was meant to be true (it wasn’t). One of these magicians was Richard Jones of Oxford, who was imprisoned and questioned on the matter. He did his best to exonerate himself of responsibility. I have found five references confirming his existence – but many of them claim he had a sceptre he used to ‘summon the four king devils’, which he used for divination purposes.

Chapter 11

Jones of Oxford was taken in for questioning as part of the Neville affair, and he did his best in his confession to exonerate himself. Neville’s claims of a prophetic dream showing himself as Earl of Warwick were now a “fair castle” which Neville assumed must be the castle of Warwick, and a shield with “sundry arms I could not rehearse”. He did admit to writing “a foolish letter or two according to [Neville’s] foolish desire, to make pastime to laugh at”. No treason, just jokes, please don’t execute me Thomas Cromwell. Jones claimed to take his alchemy seriously, however, and wrote that “To make the philosopher’s stone I will jeopard my life, so to do it,” if the king so wished. He would require twelve months “upon silver” and twelve and a half “upon gold”, and was willing to be imprisoned while he worked. Jones made a similar offer to Cromwell, but there is no evidence either man accepted. Jones was released in exchange for revealing incriminating evidence against another figure of interest. The other magicians caught up in this incident, William Wade and a man known only as ‘Nashe’, had perfected their disappearing act and were not sent to the Tower.

There is a story that Elizabeth I attributed the destruction of the Spanish armada in 1588 to John Dee’s wizardry. Given that, as mentioned, Dee was out of favour with Elizabeth at the time, this is likely untrue.

Elizabeth I’s death was in March of 1603, after she became sick and remained in a “settled and unmovable melancholy”, sitting on a cushion and staring at nothing. The death of a close friend in February of that year came as a particular blow – that of her second cousin and First Lady of the Bedchamber, Catherine Howard.

James I (or James VI, depending on where you’re from)… James I of England was also James VI of Scotland. His mother was Mary Queen of Scots, who was executed by Elizabeth I, and his great-grandmother was Margaret Tudor, Henry VIII’s sister.

“Anna, born Duchess of Jülich, Cleves and Berg.” This was how Anna signed hers’ and Henry’s marriage treaty, known as the ‘Beer Pot Documents’, because someone drew a stein at the bottom.

Bowling, as a game, can trace its origins back to ancient Egypt, and has been quite popular the world over throughout history. Henry VIII was an avid bowler himself (when Hampton Court was remodelled, bowling alleys were included with tennis courts and tiltyards), but banned the sport for the lower classes. The law against workers bowling (unless it was Christmas and in their master’s presence) was repealed in 1845.

We return to the ground, because from it we were taken. Paraphrasing of Genesis 3:19.

The (possible) first appearance of the word ‘alligator’ in the English language is from Romeo and Juliet. The description of The Apothecary’s shop mentions “a tortoise hung, an alligator stuff’d, and other skins of ill-shaped fishes”. Traditionally, medieval apothecaries and astrologers kept skeletons, fossils, and/or taxidermied pieces on display to demonstrate their worldliness.

The anger over calling the alligator ‘William’ could come from Parr, or from Anna. Her brother’s name, Wilhelm, is often anglicised as William.

Midsomer county does not exist and never has. It’s the setting for the long-running mystery TV show Midsomer Murders. Incidentally, Catherine Parr’s native county of Westmorland existed at one point, but no longer does (the area is now in the county of Cumbria). She is not the only English-born queen who this applies to; Jane Seymour’s Wiltshire and Anne Boleyn’s Norfolk still exist (and have since antiquity), but Katherine Howard was most likely born in Lambeth, which would have been in the county of Middlesex at the time. The area is now under the ceremonial county of Greater London.

“Honestly? Margaret Pole’s was worse.” Margaret Pole, Countess of Sailsbury and the last of the House of York, was kept in the Tower of London for two and a half years for her supposed support of Catholicism’s attempts to overthrow the king, before being informed of her death ‘within the hour’ on the 27th of May, 1541. She answered that she did not know the crime of which she was accused (and had carved a poem into the wall of her cell to that effect), but went to the block anyway. It allegedly took eleven blows from the inexperienced axeman to separate her head from her body. There is another story that she tried to run from the executioner and was killed in the attempt, but this is likely a fabrication. Regardless, pretty much everyone thought this was not only a bad idea on Henry’s part (killing Margaret removed any leverage the king had on her rebellious son, Cardinal Reginald Pole), it was also pointlessly cruel and a painfully undignified end.

(She was also Catherine of Aragon’s lady-in-waiting, and governess to Mary at several points.)

That everyone around her, bar a few visitors, would actively benefit from her death… Yet another quote of Elizabeth Tyrwhitt’s testimony: Parr, on her deathbed, claimed she was “not well-handled” by those around her; “for those that be about me careth not for me, but standeth laughing at my grief, and the more good I will to them, the less good they will to me”.

Chapter 12

According to a lady-in-waiting, Anne Boleyn claimed she would rather see Catherine of Aragon hanged “than have to confess that she was her queen and mistress”. This incident is probably the origin of the lyric “somebody hang you!” from Don’t Lose Ur Head.

Catalina uses a few Spanish phrases in this chapter, which don’t get directly translated. The first, No se hizo la miel para la boca del asno, directly translates to ‘Honey is not made for the donkey’s mouth’, and essentially means ‘Good things shouldn’t be wasted on those who won’t appreciate them’. Lavar cerdos con jabón es perder tiempo y jabón is ‘Washing pigs with soap is a waste of time and soap’, and is meant to indicate some things aren’t worth the energy.

…like that dream she has where she is cut up by a servant… An autopsy was done on Catherine of Aragon as part of the embalming process, which revealed the growth on her heart. This was done by the castle chandler (a dealer or trader) as part of his official duties.

Jane Seymour got rid of most of the hallmarks of Anne Boleyn’s tenure during her own queenship. The extravagance and lavish entertainments were banned, along with the French fashions Boleyn had introduced – including French hoods, which Boleyn is wearing in the portrait we have of her. Jane, as mentioned, wore a gable hood in her portraits.

“I don’t know why I’m so surprised that people care about what I say.” In the words of nineteenth century proto-feminist Agnes Strickland, Jane “passed eighteen months of regal life without uttering a sentence significant enough to warrant preservation”, which is kind of a mean thing to say. Seymour certainly said things during this time, we know this from reports, but there aren’t any direct quotes from her during her time as queen.

Here’s the painting mentioned, from 1545, during Catherine Parr’s tenure. Jane is on Henry’s left.

It was only after her death that Henry ‘loved’ her, but she is certain that he mourned for only for his own loss. There are reports that, during Jane’s labour, doctors advised Henry he might lose either Jane or Edward. Henry is claimed to have replied, “If you cannot save both, at least let the child live, for other wives are easily found.”

Countdown is a British television game show that revolves around word and number puzzles. It has been going for almost forty years, and is one of the longest-running game shows in the world, with over 7000 episodes.

“I saw a ghost bear kill someone, once.” Anne isn’t making this up. Supposedly, the incident occurred in 1816, when a Yeoman Warder saw a ghostly bear somewhere in the Tower of London. Terrified, he tried to stab it with his bayonet, only for the weapon to go through the image and strike the door behind it. The guard died of shock later on. A similar event happened in 1864, where two guards witnessed “a whitish, female figure” gliding towards one of the soldiers. The soldier in question charged this figure, only to go straight through it, upon which he fainted.

Elizabeth was imprisoned in the Tower of London for a little over two months in 1554, as a result of Wyatt’s Rebellion against Queen Mary. The rebellion was also the likely reason for the execution of Lady Jane Grey – both she and Elizabeth were Protestants in line for the throne, and therefore ‘more suitable’ as ruler. Both Elizabeth and Jane Grey denied any involvement, but the latter’s father and brother (also executed) were direct contributors.

“… you did die, Elizabeth was really upset about it…” Elizabeth took the news of Parr’s death badly. She refused to leave her bed, and was unable to go a mile from her residence, for five months following Parr’s passing.

Not because she liked that bearded potato man, God no… I found this deeply cursed engraving (first produced in 1544) in one of my books on the six wives, and now I want you all to suffer with me.

Anne of Cleves reacted poorly to being told her marriage would be annulled – some accounts say she fainted, others says she cried and screamed. Both could be true. The reasons given were threefold – One, the marriage was unconsummated (From testimony given by two servants, Anne thought a kiss goodnight counted as consummation – likely untrue, but this is the only reason that actually has merit). Two, Anne was precontracted to Francis of Lorraine (Untrue – the betrothal would only take effect if Anne’s father paid the dowry, and he didn’t). Three, Anne was not a virgin as claimed, based on the description of her ‘breasts and belly’, a Tudor way of saying Anne had previously given birth (untrue, and conflicts with the testimony for reason one). The annulment went through without Anne’s involvement, but (probably looking at the examples of her three predecessors) she accepted the ruling and kept herself from being banished, beheaded or otherwise.

(Other fact that has no bearing on reality – while researching Anne of Cleves, one of the pages that came up was The Simpsons Wiki. Apparently she’s the only wife who can claim the honour of having been in two episodes. :/)

Dogs don’t need to answer for their sins, they don’t have any. Katherine Howard was reportedly fond of animals in general, but had a particular soft spot for dogs.

She did the right thing. She told the truth. She died for it. Katherine Howard insisted, to the end, that she had no pre-contract of marriage to Francis Dereham. Would she have survived if she said she did?

[lady-plantagenet]

Unsolicited Book Reviews (n3): The Sunne in Splendour

Rating:

⭐️⭐️⭐️(+1/2?)

Even before I had an account, I tended to go to tumblr to see people’s opinions before buying a histfic. Certain books are either severely underrepresented, where I feel like there needs to be something on them, whereas others, though talked about enough, something more can still be said about them. So for my quarantine fun, I have decided to start a series where I review every medieval historical fiction novel I read. Hopefully, it will either start interesting discussions or at least be some help for those browsing its tag when considering purchasing it.

TL;DR: Keep in mind that I’m harsh with my ratings. I don’t expect my historical fiction to offer some sort of insight about the human condition or be some perfectly manicured prose, but this book’s biggest detriment was its lack of depth. Some scenes packed a serious emotional punch, but then again I am attached to this era and given the length, it would be insane not to. I learned a lot - no lie, but while my background knowledge on the wars of the roses has become enriched, I feel no closer to Richard.

Plot: We follow Richard III from a young boy at eight right before the catastrophe that was Ludlow to his death and a few years after. This story seems to be told through omniscient third person point of view, which creates issues when it comes to voice - a lot of the characters sound the same (John ‘Jack’ Howard, Francis Lovell, Richard Catesby to name a few). This is only a natural consequence of the sheer amount of people Penman chose to portray. I’m honestly still grateful for this as I was not a fan of Richard III’s POV, but really enjoyed Richard Neville Earl of Warwick’s, Margaret of Anjou and Cecily Neville’s. Everytime these three were the center of the chapter, it was truly enjoyable and multi-faceted which comes to show that Penman is capable of writing complexity when she wants to. I would also like to add that the author’s knowledge of medieval life (e.g. the food, the dogs, the nature of battles) was a high point of this novel and did something to counter-balance the rampant late 20th century flavour in this novel. She tries way too hard to adapt a medieval man such as Richard to our modern values to propagate her Richardian Agenda, which ultimately underscored this.

It must be said though that the author clearly did her research as most of what she said regarding minutae such as: what day of the week it was, where the characters were at one time, details of documents, who did what in which battle, what laws were passed etc... I had just come back to this time period after some years and I thought I knew all there was to know, yet, here comes this book which springboarded me into a wealth of new research - I suppose I am grateful for that. However, do not let that delude you into thinking it is comprehensive. There were historical innacuracies which I can only guess were intentionally made for the sake of the author’s Richardian goal e.g. Anne Neville being forced into her marital duties when historicalMargaret of Anjou made it clear that there would be no consummation until Warwick would prevail at Barnet, Isabel Neville being ‘abandoned’ by her husband in France when really it was only about 4 months they were apart and it would have made no sense for Isabel to sail with an invasionary force, Richard III abolishing benevolence tax because he thought it unfair as opposed to the reality which was that he had failed in his initial attempt to raise them because the population opposed, Richard III allowing the marriage between Jane Shore and Thomas Lynsom when in reality he had initially opposed it... Historical fiction is entitled to innacuracies but given that the author made it clear in her afterword that the only time she strayed was setting a scene in Windsor as opposed to Westminster, it is dishonest to conceal the aforementioned blips, especially when they are so unobvious that it would take a seasoned enthusiast to spot them. As you can tell they either do have a negative bearing on Richard’s image as a saint or show detractors in a positive light, clearly neither that which she was in a mood to explain away.

Characterisation: I can not stress enough how well Cecily Neville was portrayed, every scene she was in, I felt. She tends to be a very difficult character to get because of the whole illegitimacy rumour which casts shades of doubt. She was proud but also pious, subservient but also commanding... just an incredible woman of gravity. I enjoyed Warwick in all his flamboyancy as well and Edward IV was masterfully portrayed as the intelligent but forgiving man that he was. You could clearly see how despite his indulgent character, he knew when it was time to be serious, it was a joy to read the scenes where he strikes people into subserviancy. Anne Beauchamp was also quite a treat for the little time we had with her.

There were also some portrayals of mixed quality: George Duke of Clarence for one, his warped sense of humour and charm were well presented, his unpredictability adequately captured. The issue I have though is that no man is unpredictable to themselves and while it may make sense for other characters to see his temperaments as those like a weather vane it would make no sense for it to be this way in the chapters where he is the POV. Penman’s basically wrote him off as crazy (I mean literally mad) for the majority of the story which is utter tripe given that the whole madness angle is a modern invention. I won’t write more on this now as it deserves its own post (btw if anyone wants me to elaborate on anything I said so far send me an ask). Last thing I will say though: the last scene we have with him is utterly tragic and still sticks with me today, honestly the best writing in this novel was during the ‘Anne’ Book and ‘Protector of the North’ in the years surrounding George’s death. Speaking of, where do I begin with Isabel Neville and Elizabeth Woodville? Their marriages with Richard’s brothers are portrayed negatively for no other reason than to set up Richard and Anne Neville as a perfect love story. This story-telling technique is cheap as hell and I did not expect to find it in a novel so highly acclaimed for its ‘quality’. Let me make this clear: The marriage which was hailed as a love match at that time was that of Elizabeth Woodville and Edward IV. Anne and Richard could have been just as much a marriage of politics as George and Isabel’s, or the latter’s just as much a love match. George fought for Isabel just as much, if not more than Richard did for Anne, George stayed loyal for a surety whereas Richard’s bastard John’s conception may have coincided with his marriage according to Hicks, Marrying Anne was highly advantageous for Richard as marrying Isabel for George... I could go on. Therefore, why is Isabel constantly described as wretched, miserable and at one point abused(!) by her husband whereas Richard was nothing but gentle to the happy Anne. The Mary of Burgundy proposal story is often cited as proof that George only cared about power... but what about Richard’s proposal to Joanna of Portugal one month after Anne died? This may sound minor but it’s a perfect example of the author trying hard to make Richard a modern romantic figure which he wasn’t. I think he may have loved Anne Neville, but that doesn’t change the fact that he was a medieval king and made marriage provisions after her death to secure the succession. For a 800+ page novel about Richard III some seminal pieces of information were left out such as his seizure of the aged Dowager Countess of Oxford’s Howard fortune, the mysterious circumstances in which George Neville Duke of Bedford died young and unmarried after becoming his ward. All in all, do not let the wonderful historical detail fool you into thinking this is a complete account of Richard III’s day to day life.

Don’t even get me started on the Woodvilles... They were all treacherous villains and social climbers who belonged in hell. EVEN ANTHONY WOODVILLE - what has he ever done to Penman or anyone? All scenes with Elizabeth Woodville at the beggining were bedding scenes pretty much, which shows that the author saw her as nothing more than a heartless seductress. There was even a point where Edward in his rage said: ‘you would lie with a leper if it meant you becoming Queen’ and I was just shocked at that. I was further shocked when her daughter Elizabeth of York was musing that if her mother had been a good wife her father wouldn’t have needed to stray and I was just like... ‘I thought we were trying to be sensible in this book 0_0’ - How is it appropriate to have a woman blamed for her husband’s infidelity? How can we have such blatant classism and sexism on the one hand and late 20th century wokeness on the other? It’s what I said earlier, the author can’t prop up Richard and Anne without putting down all other couples in this book. By the end of the book I was honestly finding myself cheering for Elizabeth Woodville as she was becoming the woman with sense and cunning as we all know her, the saving grace of this entire characterisation was that Elizabeth became the only person with a brain by the end (I doubt this was the author’s intention). Down here in this category of bad characterisation I will add Richard and Anne themselves. Anne Neville though often absolutely adorable to me lacked any personality trait apart from being in love with Richard and past sexual abuse by Edward (which didn’t historically happen). Anne’s father and only sister die and she barely thinks about them, which severely undermines her portrayal as a loving and empathetic person. Her death scene and wane was tragic and affected me as a reader but holy Christ before that the author was very heavy handed throughout the book with her martyrisation of Anne, even when she was a young girl and everything was going well she cried in nearly every goddamn scene. Yes, this is Warwick’s daughter we are talking about. Richard (unlike the real great man that once lived on this earth) was similarly flawless and any small flaw he had was something like: ‘too trusting’, ‘acts then thinks’ - essentially ‘too good for this world’ flaws. No one is like this, least of all the real Richard who would not recognise this weird contrived romanticisation of a man. The saving grace of all this is that he admitted around the end to himself and Anne that he did want to be king a little bit, which YES, at least we get that because no one goes through all the procedures he did and endangers the survival of their house, unless they wanted to become king, at least a little bit. All in all, if Penman’s Richard III is the real man, all I have to say is: thank god his reign was cut short because this character would have made a terrible and weak monarch.

Prose: And here is where another of the stars was deducted. The prose is largely very pedestrian. It was full of modern phrases such as ‘hear me out’, ‘He thinks I am in the wrong’ ‘he can’t get away with this’ and other such likes. Also, I know it’s difficult to write a book where everyone’s names are Elizabeth, Edward, Richard and Anne, but apart from ‘Nan’ which was a nickname of that time, the modernity of ‘Bess’, ‘Bella’ or ‘Lisbet’ and the use of them in-text and not just dialogue, did much to draw me out of the medieval era. This is not just a criticism towards Penman but a grand majority of historical fiction novelists of this period. Having said that, her choice to cut conjunctions and use the word ‘be’ intead of ‘is’ or ‘are’ did not bother me at all and I found it effective in dating the language a bit. I appreciate that writing in poetic prose for 800+ pages is extremely difficult, but other’s have done it. And even in other novel where that’s not the case, the writing is still profound and impactful and conveys a deeper meaning, whereas here it’s more of a fictionalised history book. The author appears to have some imagination as the few scenes she made up e.g. Catherine Woodville’s visit to Richard or Edward summoning Edmund’s previous carer John to talk about Edmund as he was trying to deal with the grief of losing George, any scene with Cecily Neville in it, Anne Neville and Veronique (OC lady-in-waiting to her) when they were in hiding, Rosamund and Richard at the end, Margaret of Anjou when she was lodged at that abbey, When Stillington visited George before his death to give him a rosary and last rites and he refused to get them from him, Anne and Richard going to Middleham and Isabel’s lying in state were just some of them. However, even if you took all those well-written scenes and stuck them together they would not be more than maybe 150 pages which is not good in such a massive novel. I really don’t know how I would rank the prose, I feel weird saying it’s at the low bestseller level because at least it’s not overwritten and annoying, however, it lacked a lot of soul most of the time, which is dissapointing given what Penman had to work with. I can see that the author has some strengths, for example she’s good at writing about the weather and the natural landscape, she’s also good at describing facial expressions. But her massive flaw is dialogue and flow - especially the latter. The flow is hindered by her abject inability to weave historical events and their happenings into the prose, so she often settles for an exposition dump, especially when it comes to some male chatacter’s POV such as John Howard, Francis Lovell or Buckingham. A lot of the characters exposited at each other too, which wasted the opportunity for some serious character profiles. Basically too much telling and not enough showing. In conclusion, It didn’t always feel clunky, expository or laboured, but it way too often did for the good to be redeemed by the bad prose-wise.

In Conclusion, I cheated on this book a couple of times when it dragged, but got right back into it whenever the good sections came along. It is one of these books which people cannot stop raving about and I can’t stress how much I wanted to love it when I got it. It’s nice being a fan of something a lot of people are too for once, but it was just not to be. But at least now I can say I have read the cult classic of this histfic niche which apparently everyone has read and cried over. Even though it took me 7 months where others got through it in a week through sleepless nights. Despite all the negativity in this review, I would still reccomend it as it is a solid book and written by someone who clearly gets the conflict and time period. You will learn lots with this book (I intend to keep it as a sort of timeline) regarding things that you might otherwise find too dry to research in depth e.g. battle strategies and sieges. But what you will not learn about is the characters’ psychologies and personalities though Penman tries very hard and heavy-handedly to exposit their feelings to us.

[classic-laugjhing-hollywood]

Harold Clayton Lloyd Sr. (April 20, 1893 – March 8, 1971) was an American actor, comedian, and stunt performer who appeared in many silent comedy films.

Lloyd is considered alongside Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton as one of the most influential film comedians of the silent film era. Lloyd made nearly 200 comedy films, both silent and "talkies", between 1914 and 1947. His bespectacled "Glasses" character[2][3] was a resourceful, success-seeking go-getter who matched the zeitgeist of the 1920s-era United States.

His films frequently contained "thrill sequences" of extended chase scenes and daredevil physical feats. Lloyd hanging from the hands of a clock high above the street (in reality a trick shot) in Safety Last! (1923) is considered one of the most enduring images in all of cinema. Lloyd performed the lesser stunts himself, despite having injured himself in August 1919 while doing publicity pictures for the Roach studio. An accident with a bomb mistaken as a prop resulted in the loss of the thumb and index finger of his right hand (the injury was disguised on future films with the use of a special prosthetic glove, and was almost undetectable on the screen).

He was far more prolific than Chaplin (releasing 12 feature films in the 1920s while Chaplin released just four), and made more money overall ($15.7 million to Chaplin's $10.5 million).

Lloyd was born on April 20, 1893 in Burchard, Nebraska, the son of James Darsie Lloyd and Sarah Elisabeth Fraser. His paternal great-grandparents were Welsh.[6] In 1910, after his father had several business venture failures, Lloyd's parents divorced and his father moved with his son to San Diego, California. Lloyd had acted in theater since a child, but in California he began acting in one-reel film comedies around 1912.

Lloyd worked with Thomas Edison's motion picture company, and his first role was a small part as a Yaqui Indian in the production of The Old Monk's Tale. At the age of 20, Lloyd moved to Los Angeles, and took up roles in several Keystone Film Company comedies. He was also hired by Universal Studios as an extra and soon became friends with aspiring filmmaker Hal Roach. Lloyd began collaborating with Roach who had formed his own studio in 1913. Roach and Lloyd created "Lonesome Luke", similar to and playing off the success of Charlie Chaplin films.

Lloyd hired Bebe Daniels as a supporting actress in 1914; the two of them were involved romantically and were known as "The Boy" and "The Girl". In 1919, she left Lloyd to pursue her dramatic aspirations. Later that year, Lloyd replaced Daniels with Mildred Davis, whom he would later marry. Lloyd was tipped off by Hal Roach to watch Davis in a movie. Reportedly, the more Lloyd watched Davis the more he liked her. Lloyd's first reaction in seeing her was that "she looked like a big French doll".

By 1918, Lloyd and Roach had begun to develop his character beyond an imitation of his contemporaries. Harold Lloyd would move away from tragicomic personas, and portray an everyman with unwavering confidence and optimism. The persona Lloyd referred to as his "Glass" character (often named "Harold" in the silent films) was a much more mature comedy character with greater potential for sympathy and emotional depth, and was easy for audiences of the time to identify with. The "Glass" character is said to have been created after Roach suggested that Harold was too handsome to do comedy without some sort of disguise. To create his new character Lloyd donned a pair of lensless horn-rimmed glasses but wore normal clothing; previously, he had worn a fake mustache and ill-fitting clothes as the Chaplinesque "Lonesome Luke". "When I adopted the glasses," he recalled in a 1962 interview with Harry Reasoner, "it more or less put me in a different category because I became a human being. He was a kid that you would meet next door, across the street, but at the same time I could still do all the crazy things that we did before, but you believed them. They were natural and the romance could be believable." Unlike most silent comedy personae, "Harold" was never typecast to a social class, but he was always striving for success and recognition. Within the first few years of the character's debut, he had portrayed social ranks ranging from a starving vagrant in From Hand to Mouth to a wealthy socialite in Captain Kidd's Kids.

On Sunday, August 24, 1919, while posing for some promotional still photographs in the Los Angeles Witzel Photography Studio, he picked up what he thought was a prop bomb and lit it with a cigarette. It exploded and mangled his right hand, causing him to lose a thumb and forefinger. The blast was severe enough that the cameraman and prop director nearby were also seriously injured. Lloyd was in the act of lighting a cigarette from the fuse of the bomb when it exploded, also badly burning his face and chest and injuring his eye. Despite the proximity of the blast to his face, he retained his sight. As he recalled in 1930, "I thought I would surely be so disabled that I would never be able to work again. I didn't suppose that I would have one five-hundredth of what I have now. Still I thought, 'Life is worth while. Just to be alive.' I still think so."

Beginning in 1921, Roach and Lloyd moved from shorts to feature-length comedies. These included the acclaimed Grandma's Boy, which (along with Chaplin's The Kid) pioneered the combination of complex character development and film comedy, the highly popular Safety Last! (1923), which cemented Lloyd's stardom (and is the oldest film on the American Film Institute's List of 100 Most Thrilling Movies), and Why Worry? (1923). Although Lloyd performed many athletic stunts in his films, Harvey Parry was his stunt double for the more dangerous sequences.

Lloyd and Roach parted ways in 1924, and Lloyd became the independent producer of his own films. These included his most accomplished mature features Girl Shy, The Freshman (his highest-grossing silent feature), The Kid Brother, and Speedy, his final silent film. Welcome Danger (1929) was originally a silent film but Lloyd decided late in the production to remake it with dialogue. All of these films were enormously successful and profitable, and Lloyd would eventually become the highest paid film performer of the 1920s. They were also highly influential and still find many fans among modern audiences, a testament to the originality and film-making skill of Lloyd and his collaborators. From this success he became one of the wealthiest and most influential figures in early Hollywood.

In 1924, Lloyd formed his own independent film production company, the Harold Lloyd Film Corporation, with his films distributed by Pathé and later Paramount and Twentieth Century-Fox. Lloyd was a founding member of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences.

Released a few weeks before the start of the Great Depression, Welcome Danger was a huge financial success, with audiences eager to hear Lloyd's voice on film. Lloyd's rate of film releases, which had been one or two a year in the 1920s, slowed to about one every two years until 1938.

The films released during this period were: Feet First, with a similar scenario to Safety Last which found him clinging to a skyscraper at the climax; Movie Crazy with Constance Cummings; The Cat's-Paw, which was a dark political comedy and a big departure for Lloyd; and The Milky Way, which was Lloyd's only attempt at the fashionable genre of the screwball comedy film.

To this point the films had been produced by Lloyd's company. However, his go-getting screen character was out of touch with Great Depression movie audiences of the 1930s. As the length of time between his film releases increased, his popularity declined, as did the fortunes of his production company. His final film of the decade, Professor Beware, was made by the Paramount staff, with Lloyd functioning only as actor and partial financier.

On March 23, 1937, Lloyd sold the land of his studio, Harold Lloyd Motion Picture Company, to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The location is now the site of the Los Angeles California Temple.

Lloyd produced a few comedies for RKO Radio Pictures in the early 1940s but otherwise retired from the screen until 1947. He returned for an additional starring appearance in The Sin of Harold Diddlebock, an ill-fated homage to Lloyd's career, directed by Preston Sturges and financed by Howard Hughes. This film had the inspired idea of following Harold's Jazz Age, optimistic character from The Freshman into the Great Depression years. Diddlebock opened with footage from The Freshman (for which Lloyd was paid a royalty of $50,000, matching his actor's fee) and Lloyd was sufficiently youthful-looking to match the older scenes quite well. Lloyd and Sturges had different conceptions of the material and fought frequently during the shoot; Lloyd was particularly concerned that while Sturges had spent three to four months on the script of the first third of the film, "the last two-thirds of it he wrote in a week or less". The finished film was released briefly in 1947, then shelved by producer Hughes. Hughes issued a recut version of the film in 1951 through RKO under the title Mad Wednesday. Such was Lloyd's disdain that he sued Howard Hughes, the California Corporation and RKO for damages to his reputation "as an outstanding motion picture star and personality", eventually accepting a $30,000 settlement.

In October 1944, Lloyd emerged as the director and host of The Old Gold Comedy Theater, an NBC radio anthology series, after Preston Sturges, who had turned the job down, recommended him for it. The show presented half-hour radio adaptations of recently successful film comedies, beginning with Palm Beach Story with Claudette Colbert and Robert Young.

Some saw The Old Gold Comedy Theater as being a lighter version of Lux Radio Theater, and it featured some of the best-known film and radio personalities of the day, including Fred Allen, June Allyson, Lucille Ball, Ralph Bellamy, Linda Darnell, Susan Hayward, Herbert Marshall, Dick Powell, Edward G. Robinson, Jane Wyman, and Alan Young. But the show's half-hour format—which meant the material might have been truncated too severely—and Lloyd's sounding somewhat ill at ease on the air for much of the season (though he spent weeks training himself to speak on radio prior to the show's premiere, and seemed more relaxed toward the end of the series run) may have worked against it.

The Old Gold Comedy Theater ended in June 1945 with an adaptation of Tom, Dick and Harry, featuring June Allyson and Reginald Gardiner and was not renewed for the following season. Many years later, acetate discs of 29 of the shows were discovered in Lloyd's home, and they now circulate among old-time radio collectors.

Lloyd remained involved in a number of other interests, including civic and charity work. Inspired by having overcome his own serious injuries and burns, he was very active as a Freemason and Shriner with the Shriners Hospital for Crippled Children. He was a Past Potentate of Al-Malaikah Shrine in Los Angeles, and was eventually selected as Imperial Potentate of the Shriners of North America for the year 1949–50. At the installation ceremony for this position on July 25, 1949, 90,000 people were present at Soldier Field, including then sitting U.S. President Harry S Truman, also a 33° Scottish Rite Mason. In recognition of his services to the nation and Freemasonry, Bro. Lloyd was invested with the Rank and Decoration of Knight Commander Court of Honour in 1955 and coroneted an Inspector General Honorary, 33°, in 1965.

He appeared as himself on several television shows during his retirement, first on Ed Sullivan's variety show Toast of the Town June 5, 1949, and again on July 6, 1958. He appeared as the Mystery Guest on What's My Line? on April 26, 1953, and twice on This Is Your Life: on March 10, 1954 for Mack Sennett, and again on December 14, 1955, on his own episode. During both appearances, Lloyd's hand injury can clearly be seen.

On November 6, 1956, The New York Times reported "Lloyd's Career Will Be Filmed." It said, as first step, Lloyd will write the story of his life for Simon and Schuster. Then, the movie to be produced by Jerry Wald for 20th Century-Fox, will limit the screenplay to Lloyd's professional career. Tentative title for both: “The Glass Character,” based on Lloyd wearing heavy, tortoise-shell glasses as a trademark. Neither project materialized.

Lloyd studied colors and microscopy, and was very involved with photography, including 3D photography and color film experiments. Some of the earliest 2-color Technicolor tests were shot at his Beverly Hills home (these are included as extra material in the Harold Lloyd Comedy Collection DVD Box Set). He became known for his nude photographs of models, such as Bettie Page and stripper Dixie Evans, for a number of men's magazines. He also took photos of Marilyn Monroe lounging at his pool in a bathing suit, which were published after her death. In 2004, his granddaughter Suzanne produced a book of selections from his photographs, Harold Lloyd's Hollywood Nudes in 3D! (ISBN 1-57912-394-5).

Lloyd also provided encouragement and support for a number of younger actors, such as Debbie Reynolds, Robert Wagner, and particularly Jack Lemmon, whom Harold declared as his own choice to play him in a movie of his life and work.

Lloyd kept copyright control of most of his films and re-released them infrequently after his retirement. Lloyd did not grant cinematic re-releases because most theaters could not accommodate an organist to play music for his films, and Lloyd did not wish his work to be accompanied by a pianist: "I just don't like pictures played with pianos. We never intended them to be played with pianos." Similarly, his features were never shown on television as Lloyd's price was high: "I want $300,000 per picture for two showings. That's a high price, but if I don't get it, I'm not going to show it. They've come close to it, but they haven't come all the way up". As a consequence, his reputation and public recognition suffered in comparison with Chaplin and Keaton, whose work has generally been more widely distributed. Lloyd's film character was so intimately associated with the 1920s era that attempts at revivals in 1940s and 1950s were poorly received, when audiences viewed the 1920s (and silent film in particular) as old-fashioned.

In the early 1960s, Lloyd produced two compilation films, featuring scenes from his old comedies, Harold Lloyd's World of Comedy and The Funny Side of Life. The first film was premiered at the 1962 Cannes Film Festival, where Lloyd was fêted as a major rediscovery. The renewed interest in Lloyd helped restore his status among film historians. Throughout his later years he screened his films for audiences at special charity and educational events, to great acclaim, and found a particularly receptive audience among college audiences: "Their whole response was tremendous because they didn't miss a gag; anything that was even a little subtle, they got it right away."

Following his death, and after extensive negotiations, most of his feature films were leased to Time-Life Films in 1974. As Tom Dardis confirms: "Time-Life prepared horrendously edited musical-sound-track versions of the silent films, which are intended to be shown on TV at sound speed [24 frames per second], and which represent everything that Harold feared would happen to his best films". Time-Life released the films as half-hour television shows, with two clips per show. These were often near-complete versions of the early two-reelers, but also included extended sequences from features such as Safety Last! (terminating at the clock sequence) and Feet First (presented silent, but with Walter Scharf's score from Lloyd's own 1960s re-release). Time-Life released several of the feature films more or less intact, also using some of Scharf's scores which had been commissioned by Lloyd. The Time-Life clips series included a narrator rather than intertitles. Various narrators were used internationally: the English-language series was narrated by Henry Corden.

The Time-Life series was frequently repeated by the BBC in the United Kingdom during the 1980s, and in 1990 a Thames Television documentary, Harold Lloyd: The Third Genius was produced by Kevin Brownlow and David Gill, following two similar series based on Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton. Composer Carl Davis wrote a new score for Safety Last! which he performed live during a showing of the film with the Royal Scottish National Orchestra to great acclaim in 1993.

The Brownlow and Gill documentary was shown as part of the PBS series American Masters, and created a renewed interest in Lloyd's work in the United States, but the films were largely unavailable. In 2002, the Harold Lloyd Trust re-launched Harold Lloyd with the publication of the book Harold Lloyd: Master Comedian by Jeffrey Vance and Suzanne Lloyd and a series of feature films and short subjects called "The Harold Lloyd Classic Comedies" produced by Jeffrey Vance and executive produced by Suzanne Lloyd for Harold Lloyd Entertainment. The new cable television and home video versions of Lloyd's great silent features and many shorts were remastered with new orchestral scores by Robert Israel. These versions are frequently shown on the Turner Classic Movies (TCM) cable channel. A DVD collection of these restored or remastered versions of his feature films and important short subjects was released by New Line Cinema in partnership with the Harold Lloyd Trust in 2005, along with theatrical screenings in the US, Canada, and Europe. Criterion Collection has subsequently acquired the home video rights to the Lloyd library, and have released Safety Last!, The Freshman, and Speedy.

In the June 2006 Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra Silent Film Gala program book for Safety Last!, film historian Jeffrey Vance stated that Robert A. Golden, Lloyd's assistant director, routinely doubled for Harold Lloyd between 1921 and 1927. According to Vance, Golden doubled Lloyd in the bit with Harold shimmy shaking off the building's ledge after a mouse crawls up his trousers.

Lloyd married his leading lady Mildred Davis on February 10, 1923 in Los Angeles, California. They had two children together: Gloria Lloyd (1923–2012) and Harold Clayton Lloyd Jr. (1931–1971). They also adopted Gloria Freeman (1924–1986) in September 1930, whom they renamed Marjorie Elizabeth Lloyd but was known as "Peggy" for most of her life. Lloyd discouraged Davis from continuing her acting career. He later relented but by that time her career momentum was lost. Davis died from a heart attack in 1969, two years before Lloyd's death. Though her real age was a guarded secret, a family spokesperson at the time indicated she was 66 years old. Harold Jr. died from complications of a stroke three months after his father.

In 1925, at the height of his movie career, Lloyd entered into Freemasonry at the Alexander Hamilton Lodge No. 535 of Hollywood, advancing quickly through both the York Rite and Scottish Rite, and then joined Al Malaikah Shrine in Los Angeles. He took the degrees of the Royal Arch with his father. In 1926, he became a 32° Scottish Rite Mason in the Valley of Los Angeles, California. He was vested with the Rank and Decoration of Knight Commander Court of Honor (KCCH) and eventually with the Inspector General Honorary, 33rd degree.

Lloyd's Beverly Hills home, "Greenacres", was built in 1926–1929, with 44 rooms, 26 bathrooms, 12 fountains, 12 gardens, and a nine-hole golf course. A portion of Lloyd's personal inventory of his silent films (then estimated to be worth $2 million) was destroyed in August 1943 when his film vault caught fire. Seven firemen were overcome while inhaling chlorine gas from the blaze. Lloyd himself was saved by his wife, who dragged him to safety outdoors after he collapsed at the door of the film vault. The fire spared the main house and outbuildings. After attempting to maintain the home as a museum of film history, as Lloyd had wished, the Lloyd family sold it to a developer in 1975.

The grounds were subsequently subdivided but the main house and the estate's principal gardens remain and are frequently used for civic fundraising events and as a filming location, appearing in films like Westworld and The Loved One. It is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

Lloyd died at age 77 from prostate cancer on March 8, 1971, at his Greenacres home in Beverly Hills, California. He was interred in a crypt in the Great Mausoleum at Forest Lawn Memorial Park Cemetery in Glendale, California. His former co-star Bebe Daniels died eight days after him, and his son Harold Lloyd Jr. died three months after him.

In 1927, his was only the fourth concrete ceremony at Grauman's Chinese Theatre, preserving his handprints, footprints, and autograph, along with the outline of his famed glasses (which were actually a pair of sunglasses with the lenses removed). The ceremony took place directly in front of the Hollywood Masonic Temple, which was the meeting place of the Masonic lodge to which he belonged.

Lloyd was honored in 1960 for his contribution to motion pictures with a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame located at 1503 Vine Street.[39] In 1994, he was honored with his image on a United States postage stamp designed by caricaturist Al Hirschfeld.

In 1953, Lloyd received an Academy Honorary Award for being a "master comedian and good citizen". The second citation was a snub to Chaplin, who at that point had fallen foul of McCarthyism and had his entry visa to the United States revoked. Regardless of the political overtones, Lloyd accepted the award in good spirit.

Lloyd's birthplace in Burchard, Nebraska is maintained as a museum and open by appointment.

[excaliefur]

Cathy’s Relationships with the other Queens

DISCLAIMER:

I have written this around what Toby Marlow and Lucy Moss have created, it is not 100% realistic in what happened in history. It is not written around any of the actors, they are not their characters. 

This can be read with platonic love, familial love or romantic love. Read it however you want. !They are not based on the actors! I cannot emphasize that enough!

Its a character study from my point of view, I may write some other fics about somethings I have mentioned here, I already have a plan for the Elizabeth Incident.

TW: Swear words and like some words that aren’t nice I guess?

Catherine of Aragon:

It’s a mother daughter relationship. They weren’t close in the past life since her father died early on in her life and her mother needed to be able to provide for them. Also because Catherine simply didn’t have time and she had other duties to do. Cathy heard a lot of stories about Aragon from her mother, Maud, Aragon’s lady in waiting. When Maud passed away, it killed her. But now in the reincarnation era, she could hear stories about Maud from Aragon. Besides that, they had helped each other a lot from the beginning.

Aragon helped Cathy when Cathy was facing writers block, nightmares, trauma, survivors guilt and many other things, she was a non judgmental figure who was there for her all the time, out of everyone, Cathy was probably the most open to Aragon. Cathy was a common sense filter for Aragon, when she needed to rant about her problems, when she needed another persons opinion, whenever she just needed a shoulder to cry on, Cathy was there for her. On quiet days, they can often be found together, just reading or softly discussing odd things. Aragon is teaching Cathy Latin, and its going well considering the fact that Cathy already knows Spanish, is learning French and German, and she is obsessed with William Shakespeares works. Cathy is helping Anna and Aragon improve their English. 

Anne Boleyn: 

Anne and Cathy had a lot in common. At the beginning, they barely acknowledged each others presence, they bonded when Kat ran away, and when Jane decided to take part in the annual prank war. Soon they were inseparable, they did everything together, they read together, ate together, analysed works of art and slept together (not that way, get your head out of the gutter) Cathy comforted Anne from nightmares and vice versa. That was before the Elizabeth incident. They don’t talk about it anymore. It took time for them to regain each others trust, but slowly they did. And their relationship regained the same level of closeness, maybe even closer. During prank wars, they are almost never allowed to work together, because of Anne’s intelligence partnered with Cathy’s common sense. They are a force to be reckoned with. Normally, Anne comes up with outlandish plans that go against all of science, and Cathy splits up the parts that wont work and fix them so they will. Anne then takes psychology in to hand and they both manipulate their targets right where they want them. Both of them are master manipulators, although Anne hates using it for evil. 

Cathy’s lies saved her life once and now she only uses it for good and she guides Anne as well. Contrary to popular belief. Anne Boleyn is very intelligent and very well rounded in many aspects. She does crosswords daily and she works with Cathy on puzzles and riddles that are very hard to crack. When they went for a team bonding escape room, Cathy and Anne worked out every puzzle. Anne loves to learn and especially with Cathy since Cathy never judges and already knows Annes capability, they are often found watching how do they do it or how is it made together. Sciences are their favourite subjects to learn together although both of them are highly skilled in the arts. Anne and Cathy have a plan to make a comic book series someday, although both of them are master procrastinators. Anne is teaching Cathy french. 

Jane Seymour:

Jane and Cathy had a lot of history, even without ever having met in their past lives. They both died the same ways and Cathy married Thomas Seymour, Jane’s brother. So they were sister in laws and married to the same guy. A bit awkward to talk about. They didn’t ignore each other but they weren’t fighting to spend time with each other. They got so bad that when they began to work on the musical, Cathy, the resident writer. Sat down with everyone individually to get their stories and they would work together to figure out which parts to keep in the musical and which to cut out, for a variety of reasons. But they avoided the conversation for months until the final deadline was approaching and they had nothing written down for Jane’s part. 

Catherine (Aragon) took things into her own hands and forced both of them to sit together and speak, she was there to make sure they stayed but once both of them broke down, she left them to talk. They both broke and started crying, Cathy and Jane had a talk and settled their differences. Now they have a sibling relationship, Cathy protects Jane and vice versa. Jane is often found dragging Cathy from her laptop and forcing her to sleep and cutting her off from coffee when she was close to a caffeine overdose. Cathy had overdosed several times, and every time, Jane had been by her side when she was given activated charcoal and was puking her guts out. Cathy was by Janes side when Jane regained bad memories and had panic attacks from mild fevers and sickness. Jane was terrible when anyone in the house was sick, so if she got sick. It was an all hands on deck situation to calm her and help her rest.

Anna of Cleves:

Anna and Cathy were surprisingly close, they met several times in their past lives, but it was much more formal then. Now they are frequently called the chill squad, they watch from the back seat as shit goes down. Aragon and Jane are the mum squad, Kat and Anne are the beheaded cousins and Anna and Cathy are the chill squad. Anna made witty comments as they watched Anne do something stupid and Kat laughed, and Cathy responded with comebacks as they watch Jane and Aragon yell at them. Anna and Cathy tend to be the laid back ones, and although they seem calm, if you mess with any of the queens, Anna and Cathy are the ones that respond the hardest. Anna has a short temper and is likely to want to yell until her voice is hoarse, which is horrifying and sure to scar anyone, however, Cathy usually comes up with a clever plan that costs the person more than their mental health. Likely their jobs or their marriage. Nothing too extreme. 

They also had their sensitive times. Anna had crippling self esteem issues. What Henry said and did in the past life, may not have seemed to hurt her, but it did; it hurt her bad and she felt awful. While she hid it. Cathy could see through her facade. And broke her down, just so they could rebuild, stronger than ever before. Cathy also had problems with survivors guilt, and who better to help her than another person in the same situation also with survivors guilt. They spent hours talking about stuff they could have done to help others. They ranted to each other, they yelled at each other, they cried to each other. They fought each other as coping mechanisms. Until Aragon found out. Aragon put a stop at those unhealthy coping mechanisms and one day all three of them made a trip to a gym. Aragon told them that they were going to learn boxing. It confused them but they agreed. They took boxing classes for 1 hour and 30 minutes each week and in a year, they were pretty well skilled. Now Cathy and Anna, when they feel overwhelmed by anything. Instead of taking it out on each other, they box fair and square. Cathy and Anna are best friends and can be seen in the gym practicing hard, or on the roof, stargazing and chilling. Cathy loves to learn new things and she spent hours with Anna just learning about Germany and German culture, it helped Anna relieve burden as well. Anna is teaching Cathy German now and Cathy is helping Anna improve her English. 

Katherine Howard:

Cathy and Kat were probably the closest from when they first met. In their first lives, Cathy met both Katherine Howard and Anna of Cleves when she was in Mary I’s household. Cathy is constantly by Kat’s side whenever she needs it. She is the only one who is allowed to call Kat kid. It used to be term of endearment but when Cathy accidentally called her kid, Kat felt safe. They have a sibling relationship where Cathy is the older over protective sister and Kat is the innocent, naive but scarred younger sister. Cathy is the kindest towards Kat than anyone else. She sort of stands behind Kat as Kat does some silly stuff looking intimidating and scaring anyone who would dare to mess with Kat. Kat is oblivious to all of it. Kat generally goes to Anne or Jane for anything to do with nightmares but Cathy is always ready to help her out. Often, neither of them get sleep so they have a Disney movie marathon until one of them fall asleep. 

Kat persuades Cathy away from work using cuddles and her puppy dog eyes. Often times at night when Kat can’t sleep she just enters Cathy’s room and watches her work. Those times Cathy also goes to sleep. Jane and Aragon’s secret weapon when they can’t get her off of her laptop and Anna can’t force her into her bed, is Kat. Cathy cannot say no to Kat. Anne became overly protective of Kat and refused to let her near Cathy during the Elizabeth incident, but Kat broke out of her grip and everyone made up. To this day, whenever anybody goes at Kat, calling her a sl*t or a wh*re, their life will be ruined by Cathy, as much as Cathy would love to deck them. She knows how to ruin somebody’s life by a single phone call. Although Cathy was extremely short, her glare could paralyse a grown man.

[martykatewrites]

The Mummy

Tomb robbing has been a tradition in Egypt since time immemorial. Not just the tombs in the Valley of the Kings or the Pyramids, even the tombs of the pre-dynastic rulers fell victim, much to the dismay of archaeologists who found them empty. Only Tutankhamen's contained most of its contents and there was evidence that the tomb had been broken into.

The sentences for robbing the pharaohs' graves were harsh and carried out without mercy. No wonder some resorted to dropping their plundered treasures when they heard the sound of the guards at their heels. Some loot was retrieved by the guards but some enterprising thieves were able to hide their spoils with the intention of returning at a later date to retrieve them. Some did, but archaeologists theorized that hidden in the valley lay caches of precious materials that had lain untouched for centuries. All that remained was finding the way to bring them to light.

Archaeologists occasionally stumbled onto these caches, not realizing what they had found. It wasn't until Carter found five gold rings tied up in a scarf that thieves had dropped that it became evident that some loot was either deliberately or inadvertently left behind.

It was thought that such caches were exclusive to the Valley of the Kings until a stash of jewelry and unguents was found in the lost workers' village of Deir el Medina. The village had been walled and was guarded night and day by the guards of the Valley, the Medjay would search each worker as they entered and exited the village. But the prospect of ill-gotten gold surely had tempted the guards just as easily as it tempted the workers who were responsible for placing the dead pharaohs grave goods into their tombs.

Though the theory was widely dismissed, certain archaeologists gave it credence, it was more than likely than the stolen treasures did not all make it to their destinations. Perhaps of necessity it had been dropped or hidden, but some surely had been deliberately stashed away in the hopes of the thief finding a better price. The most likely recipients of the goods had been the priests or the officials in charge of the valley.

After much research, Professor Thomas Wilkes-Emberly believed that the caches not only existed, but he believed he had stumbled upon one and was convinced there were more to be found if one was only patient enough to take the time to look.

Ostensibly he was an expert on identifying royal mummies, one cache having been found near the village of Qurna and guarded and exploited by the infamous Rassul family, and the other in the tomb of Amenhotep II. Every king of the eighteenth and nineteenth dynasty was accounted for, save one, but there were unknown bodies also laying in the tomb. Wilkes-Emberly was not so sure that all the kings were correctly identified, all he could do was assist the Egyptian authorities in arranging them in a display in the Egyptian Museum.

His daughter, Roma, was his assistant and right-hand man. She had obtained a masters in Egyptology at the Sorbonne in Paris and was hoping to publish the history of her and her father's work over the years and obtain her doctorate. She was fluent in several languages besides her native English and could converse in fluent Arabic and French which helped greatly in her father's dealing with the head of antiquities. She could read heiroglyphics and heiratic, as well as ancient Greek and Latin.

She had grown up in Egypt, along with her father and mother. When her mother died during a cholera epidemic, she had accompanied her body to France and stayed with relatives for a few years, attending a Jesuit school in Paris. At her father's request she had returned to Egypt and worked with him until it was time for her to enter the Sorbonne at the request of her mother's family.

He couldn't have asked for a better partner. She got along well with the diggers, knew their families and the names of their wives and children. It was she who decided that they were badly underpaid and insisted that her father pay them a fair wage, resulting in his having the best diggers in Egypt.

He could not do without her but he had begun to worry for her. Roma was a lovely young woman but she had cut her hair fashionably, though shockingly, short and he did not remember the last time he had seen her in a dress. She had recently turned twenty-five and he was beginning to grow nostalgic over the thought of grandchildren, but she had had only one brief romance with an official at the museum, and he had been Egyptian.

Roma thought there was nothing wrong with her life, she was doing what she loved best. If there were one thorn in her side it was Ardeth-Bey, a member of the Bedoin tribe who often did work for her father. Ardeth was the son of the tribe's sheikh and clearly thought she was above herself. She remembered the day she came to the camp with her newly shorn hair and the look of outrage on his face at what she had done.

It was bad enough, in Ardeth's opinion, that she dressed like a man, supervised the workers as if it were her right, but now when she should be married and having children—the sacred duty of a woman—she showed no inclination. She was a hard worker and of much help to her father, but it was time she outgrew her hoydenish ways.

"He fancies you, you know," her father had told her, "But he knows of no other way to show it."

"Ha!" she replied, "He fancies only himself. Just wait, in a few years he'll have his four wives allowed by the Quran and lord it over them which he could never do to me. He resents the fact that I am a liberated woman and I do exactly as I like. That does not suit Ardeth-Bey at all, and he'll become even more unbearable when he succeeds his father as sheikh."

She had taken the boat to Cairo to obtain the concession for her father to continue digging in Deir El Medina. They had wanted to obtain permission to dig in the Valley of the Kings but Howard Carter had somehow managed to tie it up yet again. She had heard strange rumors about Carter and his patron Lord Carnarvon. They had been digging in the valley for six years with no results, and it was rumored that Carnarvon had wanted to quit. Carter had offered to fund the excavation himself but out of friendship Carnarvon had insisted on paying for this one last season.

Rumors had drifted up to the worker's village. The diggers were expected to be tight lipped about their employers but she had heard that Carter had indeed found something. Some steps had been discovered and now gossip was spreading about how they had found a sealed door and were in the process of clearing a corridor.

She didn't like Carter; he was a cold unfriendly man but under the tutelage of Flinders Petrie had become a more than competent archaeologist. It was highly likely that he had found a tomb, and if he had she wished him well. He had worked seven years for this, and if he had found the long-lost tomb of Tutankhamen that he sought, more power to him.

After obtaining her father's concession she spent the day wandering around Cairo. The lines to the museum were long but whenever she visited Cairo she always went to the museum, the market, and the Coptic church. After that she would go to their Cairo residence to determine that the servants were keeping it cleaned and aired out for when she and her father returned after digging season. She would spend the night in her room then catch the boat back to Luxor.

She never tired of taking the boat up and down the Nile. She loved to watch the feluccas skimming their way across the Nile. There were birds and the occasional crocodile or even hippo if she was lucky. Fishermen would toss their nets, an enterprising boatman or two would ferry tourists. The Nile was a thing alive and full of wonder.

She was tired when she reached their house in Luxor. "Father, I have it, we're cleared to dig for next year," she called but he did not answer. "Father?" she asked, then heard voices outside on the patio.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

So I’ve just finished a bunch of shows that I’ve been using to kill time during the 2020 pandemic. Basically my plan is to spend this whole situation throwing myself hard enough into British comedy to avoid a breakdown until life is able to start again. My next plan is to work through the several hundred episodes of QI.

So far, I’ve enjoyed the pattern of watching one long-running show at a time, and having one shorter show going at the same time. So I have a list of shorter shows that I plan to watch as I work through the many seasons of QI. Here is my list of shows I’ve already seen plus the shows I’m planning to watch while I watch QI.

I’m posting this list in case anyone has advice or suggestions about it; I’m quite open to those. What isn’t on this list but should be? What do you want to tell me about the shows that are on my list of shows to watch? Do you want to talk about the shows I’ve already seen? Also, I have already found links to where I can watch most of these shows online, but I haven’t found links for all of them yet and backups are always useful, so if anyone has links for these shows those would be appreciated (and if anyone would like the links I’ve found, message me).

Shows of which I have watched every episode since the beginning of 2020

Panel shows

8 Out of 10 Cats

8 Out of 10 Cats Does Countdown

Would I Lie to You?

Taskmaster

Big Fat Quizzes (of the Years/Decades/Everything/Anniversaries)

Mock the Week

Fictional shows

The IT Crowd

Not Going Out

The Sketch Show

Peep Show (seen it a couple of times before but re-watched after seeing WILTY in 2020)

The/That Mitchell and Webb Situation/Look (also seen before but re-watched after seeing WILTY in 2020 – basically I watched WILTY and then decided to watch or re-watch everything else its captains have done)

The Inbetweeners show + movies (first watched it years ago but re-watched after seeing Joe Thomas with Greg Davies on season 8 of Taskmaster)

The Thick of It + In the Loop (has been my favourite show + movie for about a decade and I’ve seen every episode of it many times, but I enjoyed re-watching it in 2020 and getting some more of its references now that I’ve seen so many other British shows)

Shows I haven’t seen yet but plan to watch in the near future, as I watch QI

Panel shows

The Bubble

Who Said That?

Duck Quacks Don’t Echo

Hypothetical

Jon Richardson: Ultimate Worrier

Joe Lycett’s Got Your Back

Frankie Boyle’s New World Order

Roast Battles

Insert Name Here

The Russell Howard Hour (possibly adding Russell Howard’s Good News before that, though that’s a lot of episodes, we’ll see where we’re at pandemic-wise)

Fictional shows

Miranda

Derry Girls (I’m hoping this show will let me finally get a proper handle on the Northern Irish accent, so I don’t have to keep identifying it the way I currently do, which is, “It’s the one that doesn’t sound like any of the other accents”)

The Mighty Boosh (might add Noel Fielding’s Luxury Comedy after this)

Shows I would really like to watch but they have so many episodes and my brain has difficulty with the concept of watching some of a show but not every single episode so I hesitate to actually put them on the list, but if this pandemic goes on long enough then at some point I will get to them

The Last Leg

Never Mind the Buzzcocks (I really love watching clips of this show, but the virus will have to mutate at least a couple more times before I commit to watching 27 seasons of anything)

Shows that have so little continuity that I think my brain could probably handle watching some episodes of them but not all of them, and I intend to pick out the episodes that feature my favourite comedians and watch those

The Great British Bake-Off (celebrity version – I don’t have a particular interest in watching random people cook, but I might enjoy watching my favourite comedians cook)

Live at the Apollo

[kammieceleek]

STUPID SIMS CHALLENGE!

Well, here’s something I’m sure nobody will pay attention to, but here goes.

This is called the ‘Tudor Challenge’ because, unlike most challenges where you play as a woman and move her up, you’re going to be playing as a guy this time around.  More specifically you will be playing as King Henry VIII, one of the most notorious monarchs in English history.  And this challenge will be split up by wife because we all know he had six of them.

Catherine of Aragon:  Divorced

Henry’s first marriage to Princess Catherine lasted twenty-four years and ended in divorce.  In order to complete this portion of the challenge, you must marry Catherine as a teen (enable teen marriage) and after she’s been married to your older brother Arthur.  The two of you will have one child—Mary—but because you’re Henry, you will have several mistresses and one son with somebody other than Catherine.  When you are both adults (not young adults, full-on adults), you divorce her and move onto the next part.

Anne Boleyn:  Beheaded

Anne Boleyn caught your eye while you were married to Catherine and you began an affair with her despite her being your wife’s lady-in-waiting.  You will not be married to her long; only long enough for her to give birth to your second daughter, Elizabeth, before she dies because you had her beheaded (or kill her in a fire; your choice).

Jane Seymour:  Died

You become engaged to Jane almost immediately after Anne’s death and she seems to be perfect for you.  She’s a good stepmother to Mary and Elizabeth and she gives you the son that you always wanted named Edward.  Unfortunately, she dies very soon after and you are left heartbroken.

Anna of Cleves:  Divorced

Another incredibly brief marriage, Anna will become close to your daughters and your son, but you divorce her because she didn’t look like the portrait of her that you saw.

Katherine Howard:  Beheaded

You are almost an elder now and your daughter Mary is a young adult.  Elizabeth is a child.  And Edward is nothing but a toddler still.  You meet the teenager Katherine Howard, who has been with two men before you (but you don’t know it).  While the two of you are married, she carries on an affair with Thomas Culpepper and you have her killed for adultery soon after she becomes a young adult.

Catherine Parr:  Survived

Now an elder, you marry the young adult Catherine Parr, who has been married twice before you only for both her husbands to pass away.  She becomes the wife who outlives you and also a loving stepmother to your daughters and your son—young adult Mary, teen Elizabeth, and child Edward.  You pass away and your son becomes your heir at the young age of nine.

TRAITS, CAREER, AND ASPIRATION

Traits:  Glutton, Noncommittal, Self-Absorbed

Career:  Politician (must reach rank 10) or Monarch (if you have the Royalty mod)

Aspiration:  Serial Romantic (obviously)

ALLOWED CHEATS

You can use the money cheat as many times as you like since Henry had a propensity for throwing lavish and overdone banquets.  MCCC is required in order to complete the Aragon/Howard sections to allow teen marriage.  Royalty mod isn’t required but could be a fun addition.

RESEARCH

If you want a more complete challenge experience, you can look into the history of King Henry VIII and find out more about his life.  The point of this challenge is to educate people on history, not just have a Sim complete an aspiration and be married six times.  I have only put the bare minimum up here for challenge purposes. 

*IMPORTANT NOTE*

Yes, this challenge was inspired by the recent smash hit musical ‘Six’ and while you can play as Henry it isn’t necessary to constantly play as him to complete the challenge.  You can go by wife if you want to, and it may be necessary to complete certain sections.  Like I said, I don’t think many people will actually do this challenge, but part of me hopes that I’ll see Vixella play through it on her channel so fingers crossed!

Good luck, monarchs.